


GLASS BEAD GAME: The Thousandth Man

by JaguarMirror



Series: Glass Bead Universe [9]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Multi, Rated Explicit for Chapter 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:33:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 37,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27362797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaguarMirror/pseuds/JaguarMirror
Summary: Nine nundred and ninety-nine dependOn what the world sees in you,But the Thousandth man will stand your friendWith the whole round world agin you.-- Rudyard Kiplinghttps://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-thousandth-man/
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw, Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw/Anduin Wrynn
Series: Glass Bead Universe [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1916869
Comments: 106
Kudos: 45





	1. What The World Sees In You

Anduin Wrynn shook his head in frustration as he wearily turned away from the Glass Bead game board. “The real problem is that it can only analyze the things we know. It’s not that I doubt the intelligence you’ve collected, it’s just that there’s no real insight here that indicates where the threat may be coming from.” He reached for the carafe of tea and refilled his mug. 

Mathias Shaw eyed the board and touched a finger to the central game piece. “I’m not surprised that the board gave no answers. It’s been like chasing a ghost. Everyone’s heard that something is going on but there’s no real connection between any of the sources. And no one seems to know where this story of an assassin came from.”

It seemed to Anduin as if there had always been plots to replace him --first as a seemingly weak, soft crown prince and now as king. Most of them were simply grumbles and rumors, but Mathias seemed unusually concerned about this one. “Maybe the Earl’s evidence will link something up.”

“Maybe. Youngton’s very thorough, but he hasn’t been away from his estate in years.” Mathias began pacing, something that he seemed to do when he was deep in thought. “He’s still got his contacts from when he worked with Pathonia.”

There was a flash of white and blue as one of the Stormwind patrol riders banked their gryphon to circle the keep’s tower. “How do we know that we’re not just chasing phantoms? It could be someone hearing one of the Houses griping about me and jumping to the idea that they’ve hired someone to do the job.”

“I make an exception for rumors of assassination. Your father had to deal with them.”

“Knowing him, he probably dealt with it by yelling at people and hitting things.” Anduin gave a thin smile, remembering. 

“Well, yes, and usually where the person spreading the rumor could see him. He felt that he could squash the gossip simply by sheer anger.”

“It must have worked most of the time.”

Mathias cleared his throat and Anduin turned to find him staring at his tea. “It worked because SI:7 took them seriously.” He looked up, his face unreadable but his meaning clear. Taking political prisoners was always a risky strategy, and Anduin wondered how many threats had been neutralized with an unfortunate but convenient ‘accident.’ 

He turned away, feeling a chill in the pit of his stomach, and leaned on the window to stare at the hills that overlooked the keep. Out there, beyond the glass, late summer lay like a golden blanket on the hills and mountain sides above the white walled city. Behind him lay the city; a marvel of stone and wood, alive with more dangers than anything the wilds held. “Tell me more about this Earl Youngton. Do you know him personally?”

“I’ve only spoken to him three times, but my grandmother knew him well. He was the one who got her out of jail and persuaded her to start the Stormwind Assassins and SI:7. He’s the kind who can carry out an order without getting personally involved. He directed a number of assassinations in the name of restoring order to the kingdom. Unpleasant as it is to think about it, he helped keep King Llane on the throne.”

Anduin touched the hidden switch that powered the board down and lowered it into a compartment in his gaming table. “Well, let’s call him in and see what he has to say.”

-~oOo~-

Earl Erwill Youngton was a frail man in his early eighties, stooped by time and worn by illness. His pale eyes and thin halo of gray hair gave him the look of an ancient saint. The hired litter bearers deposited him carefully in front of the open doors and stepped back as the earl rose from the chair. His manservant held out a gold-handled cane and he took it without acknowledgement. He stood for a few seconds, adjusting his balance, then shuffled into the meeting room and managed a short, stiff bow as the door closed. 

"Thank you for seeing me, Your Majesty. I shan’t keep you long with this business." His voice was papery; dry. Youngton’s eyes flickered toward Mathias and he gave the Spymaster a brief smile. Mathias acknowledged him with a silent nod as he turned back toward the king.

Anduin waved a hand toward the circle of couches, repressing an urge to offer to help. "Please have a seat, Earl Youngton. What’s happened to bring you here to the court?"

“This.” Youngton’s hand trembled as he handed over a crumpled and stained broadsheet with the lurid title _‘The Would-Be Queen’_ printed in large red type. 

Anduin frowned at the paper. “Tell me about this.”

“This is one of a set of documents that has come to my attention that show you’ve abandoned the people of Stormwind and that you’re a sympathizer of the Forsaken.”

“There’s more than one?” The accusation caught him off-guard. It was true that he wanted to help the Forsaken, but not at the expense of the people of Stormwind.

“Oh yes. Notice that it’s printed rather than hand written. So somewhere there’s more of these. They’re being distributed around.” He folded his hands on the top of his cane and leaned his chin on his hands, staring intently at Anduin.

He turned it over, looking at the back, but beyond a few stains there was nothing unusual that he could see. “Where did you find it?”

“It’s one of those strange sorts of things, I’m afraid. I’d ordered some books from the Plaguelands and this was part of the wrapping for the parcel. After I realized what it was, I sent a note to the camp up there, asking if they’d seen any more of these. I’m afraid it aroused some suspicion.” 

“We didn’t hear anything,” Mathias said.

“I got a visit from Commander Valorfist. We talked over old times and I showed this to him. He decided it was nonsense, and that was the end of the matter. Then another one showed up wrapped around a different book and I began to investigate.” The old man’s voice sounded tired and he was breathing heavily.

“What did you find out?” Mathias leaned forward, his expression intent.

“I traced it to the northwest area of Tirisfal Glades,” Youngton said, his eyes fixed on Anduin. “They all bear the mark of the Scarlet Brotherhood and they all make similar points -- that you are a Forsaken sympathizer. That you have betrayed the people of Lordaeron and are in league with Sylvanas and should be executed.” 

Anduin frowned as he re-read the text. “The Scarlet Brotherhood has been pretty much dismantled by now. I wonder if this is some other group.”

“Apparently not. It appears that they mean to retake Tirisfal Glades.” The gnarled hands on the cane trembled slightly.

Anduin shook his head. “And re-establish the Menethil throne.”

“Yes.”

“What they’re claiming is unbelievable --that I planned to have Calia killed and resurrected and then intend to marry her? Ridiculous. Even if she wasn’t dead, she’s older than Aunt Jaina.” He handed the sheet of paper to Mathias, who took it in his gloved hands. “Does anyone believe this drivel?”

Youngton shrugged. “Some of the landowners do. One of them gave me the broadside that calls for your assassination and the crowning of Genn Greymane as interim regent. Apparently Calia Menethil had a son who was saved from his mother’s fate. He’s now a member of the Scarlet Brotherhood and will make a better king than you, your majesty.”

“Hmm. I knew of a movement to promote a distant cousin who lives in Westfall to my throne, but this rumor is new to me. “ He glanced toward Mathias, who shook his head. 

Youngton fished a folded sheet of paper from a pocket. “Here’s the one that showed up two weeks ago.” He held it out to Anduin. “It’s called ‘The Traitor King’ and is mostly a rehash of the first one. You can read it for yourself.”

Anduin tapped the paper with his fingers “This looks like an attempt to start a rebellion. We’ve heard rumors of an assassination attempt, but this is the first hard evidence we’ve seen.”

“Ah. Assassin. One of the farmers mentioned Invar. But Invar One-Arm died in Northrend.”

“Invar One-Arm?”

“The First Assassin of the Scarlet Crusade. Dead many years ago.” He bent over his cane and coughed briefly. “I hope you will forgive a quick departure. I am feeling short of breath. I need to lie down.” 

“Of course, Earl Youngton, and thank you,” Anduin said. “I hope you’ll feel better soon.”

He gave a short bow and shuffled toward the door where his litter bearers stood waiting. “Thank you. This attack will be over shortly,” he said as the door closed behind him.

“What an ugly business.” Anduin ran his hand through his hair. “Is there any chance that the Scarlet Crusade has come back to life with new recruits?”

Mathias shook his head as he folded the two sheets of paper and tucked them in one of his many pockets. “ I’ll check to see what our most recent reports say, but as far as I know, they’re inactive. The ones in New Hearthglen keep pretty much to themselves. Tirisfal -- well, there’s not many there, living or Forsaken. You saw what it was like. Small farms and heavily guarded towers for the living in a landscape of death.” 

He nodded, feeling bleak melancholy wash over him like a tide. “A haunted land.” The memory of hundreds of graves under the perpetual gloomy gray-green sky lingered. Most of the fallen buried there were members of the Horde; bodies of the Alliance were sent home to Stormwind for burial. But there were still some animated corpses that shuffled mindlessly through the perpetual poison fog; animated bodies of soldiers and heroes from both factions who died at the gates of the Undercity. Their cadavers would stalk the blighted landscape for generations to come unless they were exterminated. “Every minute that I was there, I felt as if all the ghosts of the land were clinging to my armor, accusing me of not doing anything.”

“You didn’t create that land. Arthas did. And Sylvanas.”

“I helped create what it’s become, though.” Anduin glanced back at his game table. “I think these pamphlets are probably the result of what we did there.” 

“Technically, the area is ours by right of conquest,” Mathias pointed out.

“Technically, yes. But leaving a garrison there seemed like the wrong move for a lot of reasons, including that our army has been whittled down to almost nothing. The ones who live there -- Forsaken and others -- earned the right to determine their own fate. Now -- I’m not so sure it was the right thing. We need to find out if it’s turning into a hotspot for another war that none of us can afford.”

“I don’t think there are enough people there to actually make a difference,” Mathias said. He frowned and sniffed briefly like a hunting dog scenting something.

“There might be enough to start a war. Or enough to hire assassins. How serious the threat is to assassinate Calia Menethil?”

“Enough of a threat that I’ll send a message to warn her and the Netherlight Temple. The wars have shattered the old chains of succession. How closely related are you to Calia?”

Anduin rubbed his hands through his hair, trying to remember family lore. “Ergh. Third cousin, once removed, I think. Father and Arthas were third cousins. So if he exists, this son would be my fourth cousin? These family trees are pretty tangled.” 

Mathias glanced at the map that was pinned to the wall. “If the Scarlet Brotherhood actually has Calia’s child, he should probably be about eleven or twelve by now.”

“That’s no age to put anyone on the throne.” 

Anduin grimaced and scrubbed his face with his palms. His ears were ringing and his throat was dry and itchy. Autumn in Stormwind meant a lot of pollen and while it usually didn’t give him any trouble, his body apparently decided that today was the day to rebel. He’d send down to the kitchens for some peacebloom tea. A hot mug of that would probably get rid of the itchy feeling. Mathias seemed to be feeling some of it, because he’d removed a glove and was rubbing his nose. “I’m going to send for peacebloom tea. Do you want some?”

The Spymaster jerked suddenly and stared at his glove in horror. “No!” he whispered.

“Shaw?”

 _“That smell!”_ Mathias swiftly stripped off his other glove and threw the pair into the cold fireplace. “Sit down - now! Start healing yourself! Big spells -- the biggest ones you have!”

“What?” He felt a wave of tiredness wash over him. Maybe sitting down was a good idea. His throat felt tight, and it was hard to swallow.

“You’ve been poisoned! It was on the letters! Heal yourself and keep healing! Don’t stop -- I’m getting help!” He bolted for the door.

Poisoned? The noise in Anduin’s ears rose to a roar. He started to ask a question, but Mathias was already running down the hallway. Poison dispelling was one of the spells that priests learned in their first year. He cast the spell on himself and felt his mind clear; the burning sensation in his throat eased. A renewal spell soothed his body and brought him up to full strength. He took a step towards the door to call Mathias back and reassure him.

Nausea hit him like a hammer blow.

He doubled over, his stomach heaving. He managed to cast another dispel and then a healing spell. Relief was instant, but lasted only a few seconds before nausea returned along with a headache. Why was the poison still there?

Maybe the poison was still on his hands. He stumbled over to the carafe of tea and managed to pour a scant cupful of the dregs over his hands before his stomach heaved again and he doubled over, retching. Blinding pain shot through his temples as he tried a healing spell. 

There was no sensation of relief. His hands were itching now; burning and his fingers were swelling. Why wasn’t the spell working properly? There had to be some sort of magical component added to the poison that would keep it surging back unless he managed to clear all of it out of his system. 

He held onto the sideboard, panting as he tried both the dispel magic and dispel disease spell. Neither had any effect. He tried a desperate prayer, which made him feel better just long enough to stagger to the couch. 

It was becoming harder to think, and harder to gather his energy. Why was this poison draining his life force so quickly? Was there something else? A curse? 

Darkness gathered at the edge of his vision.

He gathered in the Light and pushed through a Great Heal and briefly felt the world turn to normal -- and then everything faded suddenly as the spell ended and his stomach cramped. He doubled over with a grunt of pain. 

Why wasn’t anything working? 

There was another spell… but he couldn’t think of the words. He tried a dispel again to clear his head but everything hurt. Maybe a small heal -- anything to hold on until help arrived. Mathias had run for help. There were always people in the keep… healers, Champions, Grand Champions. Someone would be here soon to help. He simply had to stay alive until then.

He was almost completely drained now. It took all of his strength to lift his hand; even moving his stiff, cold fingers was almost too much. But he needed to stay conscious for just a little bit. Mathias would be here in just a few seconds. 

Now he was down to the simplest spells; the easiest ones, the least effective ones that every priest learned first and he cast and recast as fast as he could as the darkness crept over him. He was cold. So cold. And there was no sound at all now.

Mathias would be here. 

He used the last of his energy for a final renew spell.

_Mathias would…._


	2. More Close Than a Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **THE STORY SO FAR:** An elderly noble comes to Stormwind with evidence of an assassination plot by a branch of the Scarlet Crusade. He presents documents showing charges against Anduin that say he's betraying Stormwind to the Forsaken. The documents are real, but laced with a powdered poison developed by SI:7 to take down the leaders of the Burning Legion. Anduin handles the letters and the earl (the assassin) dies of the same poison. Mathias recognizes the smell of the powder and runs for help as Anduin begins to succumb to its effects.

Six seconds to sprint down the hallway. Medrion’s Powder could kill most spellcasters within five minutes and it had taken him three minutes and fifty seconds to realize that something was wrong. 

There was a cluster of people at the end of the hallway, crowded around the Earl’s sedan chair. Heads looked up as Mathias charged toward them, shouting incoherently. A page, pale with fear, turned toward him. “We’ve got a healer, sir, but the Earl seems to be dying.”

Mathias shoved someone aside. “Let him die!” he roared. “He’s poisoned the king! I need a druid! _NOW!_ ” His hands were shaking, his palms sweaty.

Just one minute left.

Faces turned toward him, mouths agape, and there was a confused babble of voices. He grabbed a fistful of tabard and shouted into the face of one of the Lion’s Guard, “Run to SI:7. Tell Renzik I need Kleek’s Antidote! All of it. Now!” 

The woman nodded and ran. He looked around and pointed randomly. “Get Turalyon! Find every healer you can! All of them! Get the druid from the garden to the king’s quarters now! The rest of you, secure the area and don’t let anyone into the corridor toward the office unless they’re healers.”

He snarled down at the old man who lay on the floor, moving feebly, wanting to stab him and twist the dagger in until Youngton screamed his last. “Let him die. Hold anyone who came in with him.”

For a few seconds the rictus on Youngton’s face looked a bit like a savage grin. Mathias turned from him and pointed at two of the Lion’s Guards. “You two. Come with me. Stand outside the royal chambers. Guard the door with your lives.”

A heavily bearded kaldorei man with dark blue hair stepped forward. “I’m a druid.” 

“Get to the king!” Mathias pointed and the druid shifted to his feline form and began sprinting. He could feel the seconds trickling away. They seemed to be speeding up. Thirty-three seconds left. He sprinted back towards the king’s chambers.

By the time he reached the office, Anduin was lying on the couch, one arm dangling limply, his face a horrible corpse-white. The druid knelt beside him, brushing the pale blond hair out of Anduin’s face, his fingers leaving traces of green spell-fire in their wake. “It’s Soron, your majesty,” he said softly. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

The name meant nothing to Mathias; the kaldorei wasn’t part of the keep’s regular staff, but one of the Champions who served the crown on a rotation schedule. Anduin reacted slowly, mouthing something and making a gesture that might have been a spell, but there was no glimmer of light around his fingers. His hand dropped limply and the druid made a strangled noise and began working furiously. “Elune’s eyes -- what _is_ this stuff?”

Mathias swallowed, his throat tight. “It’s called Medrion’s Powder. It’s like -- a poison combined with several spells, including a curse. It was designed to kill spellcasters.” His heart was hammering and he was afraid to blink, afraid to look away, afraid that between one breath and the next that Anduin’s heart would stop.

The druid’s face was grim as he began rapidly casting his healing spells. “We’ll need everyone, then -- paladin, priest, shaman -- multiple healers to get this stuff off him. I can’t do this alone. He’s sinking fast.” He turned back to Anduin, spellfire trailing from his hands as a Pandaren monk hurried in. “Shemsu… take over heals while I do dispels for a moment. I’m low on mana. When Tarwandur gets here from the garden they can run innervate on us.”

She nodded and began channeling a flow of energy as an image of her Celestial guardian, the green dragon, hovered beside her. Mathias gritted his teeth and stared at the group huddled around the couch, unable to think of anything beyond the dying man in front of him

Anduin’s body was wracked with a series of convulsions. The druid swore suddenly and rose to his feet, running toward the hallway shouting, “Need shamans and paladins _now!_ ” 

Mathias felt his heart stutter as Anduin went limp again.

His eyes were beginning to burn and his stomach was cramping, signs that some of the poison had gotten on his skin after all. He fought down nausea as he stepped away from the group. It was a small enough dose that he could probably ride out the symptoms and leave the healers to focus on saving Anduin. 

He propped himself against the sideboard as Turalyon himself charged in, followed by his son Arator and an archbishop from the Cathedral. “What’s happened to the king?”

“Medrion’s Powder,” Mathias said. It came out as a croak. “It’s SI:7’s best weapon against spellcasters. I helped develop it. Sprinkle it on paper and it works by contact. It’s part poison, part curse, part spell.”

Light flared from Turalyon’s fingers, washing over Anduin’s chest. “How strong is it?”

“We intended it for Gul'dan and the top lieutenants of the Legion. A visitor -- Earl Youngton -- used it on Anduin.” 

Turalyon gave a silent snarl and then turned back to give orders to the other healers; a sequence of dispels and heals as he began to channel energy into the king’s body. Mathias stared at Anduin, counting the slow rise and fall of the king’s chest as he took shallow breaths.

Renzik himself showed up carrying several vials of silvery liquid, handing three of them to the monk. “Tip this into his mouth carefully. See if you can get him to drink all of them.”

She nodded and unstoppered the bottles.

Renzik turned to Mathias, handing him the smallest bottle. “Drink.”

“I’m fine. Give it to Anduin.”. 

“Shaw, you are _not_ fucking fine. In fact, you’re anything but fine. Your lips are purple and you’re shaking and you look like you’re two steps away from a grave. I worked on that shit and I know the symptoms and I know what it does even in small doses. In case you forgot, we almost lost McCoy to it. Now you either drink this on your own or I sap you and stuff it down your nostrils.” 

He lifted the potion to his lips and swallowed as Renzik scowled at him. “There.”

The goblin nodded briefly. “Okay, then. I'll get things sorted out in the keep. I'm going to close off the entrances, say that the king has unexpected diplomatic visitors, give the Horde the heads up and tell them not to accept anything until we clear it. I told the techs to bag the Earl’s body so we can take it to Doc Mixilpixl’s lab for testing.”

“Good moves. What about the people who were with Youngton?”

“Had them moved to the petitioner’s chamber. My money's on them claiming they don’t know anything. Doc will be here shortly. He’s bringing decontamination kits for the area and a change of clothes for you, so go stand in the corner away from everyone until you’re clear.” 

“Are you always this bossy when I leave you in charge?”

He didn’t think it was possible, but Renzik’s stare grew even icier. “Yes. Now go to that damned corner and stay there till Fairwind comes to help you with the decontamination. We’ll use the bathroom that Anduin had as a kid to clean you up.”

“There’s no need for Flynn to be here. We don’t need more people.”

“Listen, Shaw. I don’t need to be riding your ass, trying to figure out if you’re going to face plant from poison or something else. I’m delegating you to Fairwind while I sort the rest of this out.”

“I’m feeling better. I can handle it, Renzik.”

The goblin scowled at him. “You just took a dose of that crap and until Doc and everyone else says you’re fine, you need to stay right here where the healers can help you. I’m taking care of the rest.”

“But…”

“You can kick my ass about it later. Meanwhile just stay here and stay out of trouble while I go send some messages.” He marched off before Mathias could retort.

Left alone, his mind kept cycling back to Youngton. In hindsight, it was evident that his intent was to assassinate Anduin and possibly set the blame on Mathias himself. He'd been smug about it, too, telegraphing every single move. If his plan had succeeded, the whole thing would have looked suspicious -- a dead king and a dead noble with the only witness being Stormwind's best known assassin. The old earl probably planted a clue or two somewhere that framed him for regicide.

One of the keep’s mages entered with Renzik and opened a portal. Several SI:7 operatives, including a group in S.A.F.E suits emerged from it, carrying decontamination equipment.

The team worked quickly, stripping Anduin and bagging his clothes. They carefully cleaned and re-dressed him as the healers continued work. Flynn arrived with a tall Draenei in tow as the priests and mages gently transported Anduin into the royal bedchamber. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, love. Won’t take a minute and then you can go hover over Himself if you like.” Flynn’s eyes never left his face. He touched Mathias with gloved hands, steering him down the hallway to the unused bathroom and helped him remove his armor. The Draenei bagged the contaminated clothing and began preparing the wipe cloths for Mathias to use in the shower.

“I’ll take those. You go help the others,” Flynn said. “I’ll make sure everything gets bagged. We’ll be fine.”

He bowed. “ _Pheta thones gamera_ \-- Light guide your path.”

The water in the shower was hot; just the temperature that Mathias liked. He stepped under the faucet and braced his freshly cleaned hands against the wall and stood with his eyes closed, allowing the water to flow over his body as Flynn gently washed his body. He tried to allow himself to relax; to let his muscles un-knot as those broad hands stroked his bare skin but the images of Anduin, pale and lifeless, couldn’t be easily washed away.

There was a brief kiss on his ear. “You’re thinking again, love.” He turned to see Flynn’s face, inches away, misted with fine droplets of water from the shower.

“How could you tell?”

There was a brief smile. Fingertips stroked his jaw. “Your jaw starts twitching. You’re gritting your teeth. Can you talk about it?”

He shook his head. Dammit, Flynn was right. He _was_ grinding his teeth. “No. I’m… just worried.”

“I know. So am I. Right now the best thing for him is to have _you_ at your best.”

Guilt stabbed at him. “I’m not so sure about that. My ‘best’ hasn’t done a good job of keeping him safe today. I just… he should have been wearing gloves when he took that paper.”

“Reznik told me about that.” Flynn turned the water off and held up the towel. “He also said that the fact that Anduin wasn’t wearing gloves was the only thing that saved the government of Stormwind from falling.”

Mathias paused, towel in hand. “That makes no sense. Are you sure that’s what he meant?”

“Aye. Said that stuff’s like glitter.” Flynn took a smaller towel and began drying Mathias’ legs. “He said that If Anduin had been wearing gloves, the powder would be all over the tea cups and everything. So while you two would be walking down to the map room to meet Jaina, Anduin’s poor little page would be in the room…”

“...picking up the cups…” Ice ran down his spine.

“Yep. And while you were talking with Jaina and handing her things and touching things, that poor girl would have taken your mugs down to the kitchen and others would have touched them. She’d probably try to go to her room when she felt sick. So by the time you learned something was wrong, half the kitchen staff and his page would be dead and Jaina would be dying, too. And maybe the Tauren if he stopped to sign a petition or hand something to Baine.”

Mathias froze, stunned. “Youngton could have actually made the Scarlet Crusade’s plan succeed. If the poison had gone that far, we’d have most of the major officials dying -- from generals to mages and several cabinet members. It would take days to clear the keep completely. And when it was all over, the only ruler left to rule Stormwind would be Genn. From there it's just a quick step to show up with Calia's son and petition for him to be made crown prince and then king.”

“That’s how Renzik saw it.” Flynn dried his back with brisk efficiency and then began handing him his clothes. “It’s still touch-and-go for Himself but they got here in time. Renzik thinks Anduin will be feeling this for a few days but will be fine after that.”

Mathias buttoned his shirt and began strapping on his armor. “Sloan McCoy, one of our alchemists working on it, got a dose and we almost didn’t get to her in time. It took about two weeks before she was back up to form again.” 

“But she’s okay now?”

“Yes.” He looked in the mirror and smoothed his hair back with his fingers. “Let’s go see how Anduin’s doing.”


	3. The Whole Round World Agin You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE STORY SO FAR: An elderly nobleman attempts to assassinate Anduin and most of the Stormwind government with a poison developed by SI:7. Mathias Shaw recognizes the symptoms and stops the attempt, though Anduin nearly dies. The investigation finds that the Scarlet Brotherhood wants to start a result and put Calia Menethil’s son on the throne and restore the Menethil (humans only) dynasty.

A lifetime of surviving slums and freebooting gave Flynn the ability to read others’ reactions easily. By now he knew how to spot the signs that Mathias was holding himself together, shoring up stress and raw emotion with walls of grit and determination. There was a real danger that he’d push his body beyond its limits and make things worse. He was also one of the most stubborn people that Flynn had ever met -- which was saying quite a bit -- so finding a way to take care of him would require some careful navigation through some very tricky emotional currents.

He set aside the book he was pretending to read as Mathias softly closed the door and spoke to one of the guards stationed in the room beyond.

The blankets beside him moved slightly. He smiled and didn’t look down as he continued stroking Anduin’s shoulder. “It’s okay. He’s gone. You can quit pretending that you’re asleep.”

“How did you know?”

“Nobody falls asleep that fast, mate. Not unless they’re drugged. And once they’re asleep, it takes a bit before they’re to the point where they’re not moving at all except to breathe.”

“Oh.” Anduin pulled the covers from his face. He looked pale and drawn.

Flynn smiled down at him. The poor sod looked worse than Mathias did when he got seasick. “I would appreciate it, though, if you’re not up and around unless it’s to the bathroom. If Mathias comes back and sees you out of bed and trying to act normal, he’s going to bully through things himself. And neither of you is in any shape to go dancing with the skipper.”

Anduin didn’t grumble but he did make a face as he propped himself up on his elbows. “What… exactly happened? I know there was a poison on the papers that Youngton gave me, but after that I don’t remember anything.”

“It was really bad business, mate. Both of you were poisoned by something that SI:7 developed a while ago to kill big demons of the Legion.”

Anduin abruptly sat up and then sagged back. “Mathias was poisoned?”

Flynn touched fingers to Anduin’s chest, letting them rest there but not pushing. “Really shouldn’t sit up suddenly, mate. You’re quite a sight. They say it’s going to be at least a week before you’re in shape again.”

“A week?” He looked like a deckhand who’d just been sent to clean out the bilges.

“Aye. Longer if you try to hop up and start ordering everyone around like you’re the grand admiral.”

He sagged back into the nest of blankets and curled against Flynn’s thigh. Flynn tugged a sheet over Anduin’s shoulder and then reached out and stroked his blond hair and felt rather than saw him sigh. 

“Tell me the rest,” Anduin mumbled. “How is Mathias doing?”

“He’ll be okay. He had just a tiny dose. That earl also took the poison and he's dead. Mathias got the healers to you just in time and then SI:7 came in and cleaned the stuff up.”

“Why?” 

“Nobody knows. Could have been much worse. Renzik told me that if you’d been wearing gloves, the poison would have ended up killing your page and the kitchen staff and everyone else you touched before they knew what was happening.”

He lifted his head. “Jaina -- she was supposed to meet me. Did you hear anything about her?”

“Someone said she was stopped before she portaled in. I imagine they’ve kept her up with what’s going on.”

Anduin pushed himself to a sitting position and paused, panting, as he pointed towards the other room. “She'll worry. I need to write her a note. There’s a portable writing desk on the bookshelf by the window. Could you bring it to me? And a pen from my desk and ink and paper and sealing wax and the seal?”

Tides help them all, Flynn thought. There was no stopping the Lion or his Spymaster. “I’ll bring them if you’ll stay put.”

There was a nod and Anduin settled himself reluctantly against the headboard of the bed.

-~oOo~-

The skies were dark and the Child had just risen when Mathias opened the door to Anduin’s bedchamber and glanced around the room. Fresh logs had been added to the fire and a writing desk with a sealed letter was sitting on the bedside table. Flynn was sitting on the bed next to a mound of covers, reading. He looked up and smiled warmly as Mathias closed the door, cocking his head in a silent query.

Mathias held up his hand. “Everything’s fine. Stay there beside him,” he said softly, but Flynn just gave a brief shake of his head and got up to come over to Mathias, folding him in a warm embrace and kissing him gently.

“Love, you need to go lie down.” His fingers skimmed Mathias’ leather cuirass. “Take that armor off and sit beside Himself for a bit while I get all of us something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Fingers gently brushed his cheek. “I know. But he’s got a thousand questions that I can’t answer and he needs you to keep him safe and you can’t do that if you’re tired and hungry. Go talk with him while I see about some sort of meal and go hand off the letter he wrote so it can be given to the Lord Admiral. He doesn’t want her to worry..” 

“The Steward can do that.”

“Good to know.” He touched the buckles on Mathias’ pauldrons as if asking permission and after a moment Mathias reached for them himself and began removing the bulkier pieces. Flynn took them from his hands and set them neatly on a nearby chair.

“Now go,” Flynn said and nudged him toward the bed. “Both of you need to talk to each other.”

Mathias rolled his eyes briefly and leaned in for a brief kiss. "Yes, mother."

"Cheeky sod.”

He shuffled tiredly over to the bed, stopping to remove his boots before he swung his legs up onto the covers. Flynn gave him a mock salute as he retrieved the letter and and quietly slipped out the door.

Anduin looked up from his pillow, his face etched in tight lines of worry. “How are you feeling?”

He palmed his eyes, feeling exhaustion rising from within. “I’ve been better.”

Sheets rustled as Anduin pushed himself to a seated position. “Flynn filled me in on what he knew. What’s the situation now?”

“We’re keeping everyone out of the keep for now and the story in the street is that there’s a sensitive diplomatic meeting. Jaina and Baine have been briefed. Turalyon ordered guards to Youngton’s estate and the lands and household are under lockdown. Renzik has sent agents there to investigate but I don’t think he’ll find anything other than what Youngton wants us to find.”

Anduin pushed aside the covers and sat up. “Do you think the broadsides are a real threat?”

“I do. And I think Youngton told us exactly what he believed -- that you’re betraying all the humans on Azeroth and throwing in with the Forsaken. But whatever else he knew has died with him.”

His shoulders slumped. “How could he believe all those lies?”

“I don’t know. But he wasn’t a hasty man. He always looked into things very carefully.” 

“Do you think he really believed those lies about Calia having a son and my wanting to marry her?”

“Maybe. He could also have been the source of the lies. He could have invented the son to give a foundation for a rebellion.” 

“But _why?_ ”

“We may never know. That’s the painful thing about life. Sometimes we never find out why people do things.” He nodded at the bookshelf. “In a good story, the tale-teller always shows the whys and wherefores. But life isn't like a story. It’s messy and chaotic. And sometimes in life the one doing all the deeds doesn’t know why they’re doing them.”

Anduin drew his knees to his chest and sat, head lowered onto his arms, a picture of confusion and misery. Mathias reached out his arm and pulled him in for a brief hug. “I’m sorry, Wrynn. Wish I had the answers.”

“Me too.” After a moment he drew a deep breath and sat up straight. “What do we do now?”

Mathias stared at the hearth for a moment, watching the flames dance across the logs. “Investigate everything and uncover the lies. If I’d been trying to kill you, I would make it look like I acted alone. But I’d also try to leave things that made investigators believe that you were truly guilty and that I was taking the only step I could think of to keep you from destroying the kingdom. And I’d be sure that the only evidence I left looked solid. Records, letters -- things that would make everyone who trusts you start to doubt you.”

“Would he go as far as forging letters?”

Mathias shrugged. “I would. I don’t see any reason why he didn’t.”

“How does anyone fight a lie like that?”

“The usual method is with an unfortunate ‘accident.’”

Anduin jerked upright and his head whipped around. “No!” His eyes were fierce. “That may have been the way others did it. That’s not the way I’m going to do it.”

These were the arguments -- discussions, really -- that Mathias hated most. Anduin was an idealist and his belief that the right cause would win if the supporters took a noble approach was dismally naïve. While it worked in some cases, there were others like Sylvanas Windrunner, who saw kindness as something she could exploit. He gritted his teeth and braced himself. “You can’t corral it. Even the weakest lie will convince people who want it to be true. And when someone’s got an eager audience for their lies, they don’t stop.”

And there it was, the slight hunch of the shoulders, the lowered head, the firm jaw, the scowl. Anduin was digging in for a long argument. “Killing them or putting them in prison will make everyone else think there’s more to that story.”

Mathias took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He was drained; too tired to argue with the stubborn man. “We’ll think of something. Maybe your game board will suggest a way of handling this.”

Anduin took the proffered gambit and like that, the tension melted. He gave a brief nod and then rested his chin on his folded arms. “This assassin -- Invar One-Arm -- do you suppose he’s really alive?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me at this point. We know he arrived in Northrend aboard one of the Crusade ships that was lost during the first wave of landings. He’s been marked as ‘possibly dead’ in our records. However, Youngton had a manservant with him when he arrived -- a manservant who left right after Youngton stepped into your office. He was nondescript --- average height, brown hair, wore dark red livery with silver trim. It’s an effective disguise because every bit of that could be changed in a few minutes. No one saw him after that or knows where he went.”

“How are you going to track him?”

“Renzik said he had a few ideas. Truth is, about that time I was running out of energy and didn’t ask for a lot of details. He knows what he's doing.”

Anduin tapped his lip with his thumb. “So what’s next?”

Mathias could hear the faint ring of footsteps coming toward them and the murmur of voices. “We eat dinner and find out who Flynn’s brought for company.” He swung one leg over the edge of the bed.

The door opened and Flynn entered, followed by Arator, Turalyon’s son. “Ahoy. Food and a door-watcher,” he announced with a grin as he took a wooden box from the half-elf’s hands. "He was wandering around with nothing to do, so I press-ganged him."

Arator smiled uncertainly. Flynn closed the door and shoved a chair in front of it. "There you go. Your watch post for the night, mate," he said as he opened the box and offered the contents to the paladin. Arator took slices of cheese and meat and a drink and settled himself in the seat. Flynn closed the box lid and came toward the bed.

“It’s light fare,” he said. “Didn’t know how your stomachs would feel right now.”

Anduin, predictably, took apple slices and cheese and bread and a flask labeled “peacebloom tea” and Mathias selected bread and a slice of meat along with tea. Flynn began helping himself to the leftovers.

Mathias studied Arator as they ate. He had the blond, bland good looks of the highborn elves without any of the real individuality that marked the Alliance and Horde Champions. It was possible that like so many of the children of the famous, he struggled to be something -- anything -- in the shadow of his famous parents. He’d served the Silver Hand faithfully and was said to be a good fighter and to be a paragon of integrity, but beyond that, he seemed to leave no particular trace on the people he met or the places he traveled. That made him an enigma, and Mathias was not fond of enigmas. They tended to be unknown quantities in places where he needed precise actions. For tonight, having him sit and block a doorway was not unreasonable.

He glanced briefly at Anduin and thought back to Youngton’s words earlier in the day. The off-handed mention of Invar One-Hand was no coincidence, which meant there was at least one other professional killer out there waiting to strike. The mention of Invar's name could be something to throw them off the track, but also suggested that whoever was stalking them was one of the Crusade's high assassins. They'd have to do a deep dive into their records to find the other names.

Over all this lay the question of whether there was any taint of N’zoth’s influence. Anduin was showing his temper more often and there was more than just a little hint of his father's notorious rage in some of them. The events lately would have tried the patience of a stone statue, and he was still young and relatively inexperienced. He relied on his game to help him sort things out -- but the board was a thing of magic and mechanics. If something magical could unbalance the lines that it produced, Anduin could be led into some very bad decisions.

If he was tired and angry he could also be nudged by a god's suggestion into doing something very stupid. The quickest way to be certain that the board and the king were both free of N'zoth was to involve the one being that Mathias really didn’t want to invoke - the black dragon Wrathion, the Earth Warder.

That left him with three main questions to answer: who - or what - convinced Youngton to make the assassination attempt, who was the other hunter that Youngton mentioned, and find out how widespread the Scarlet Crusade’s lies were.

The largest question of all hung over his head like a crushing weight: if Youngton was right after all and Anduin was in league with Sylvanas and planning to turn Stormwind into a kingdom of the undead and the Forsaken, what would Mathias Shaw do about it? 

The Uncrowned called themselves “slayers of kings.” Would he -- could he kill Anduin Wrynn if the evidence was clear?

He didn’t know the answer to that.


	4. His Wrong's Your Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An elderly nobleman attempts to assassinate Anduin and most of the Stormwind government with a poison developed by SI:7. Mathias Shaw recognizes the symptoms and stops the attempt, though Anduin nearly dies. The investigation reveals that the Scarlet Brotherhood wants to start a result and put Calia Menethil’s son on the throne and restore the Menethil (humans only) dynasty. Mathias is sworn to protect Anduin -- but he also swore to protect Stormwind. What happens if those two oaths conflict with each other?

A rumble of thunder snarled over the hills, waking Anduin from some dream that left him vaguely troubled. He rubbed his eyes and tried to hunt for scraps of a memory, but it eluded him. The sky outside was brightening and he could just see the crest of the nearby mountain. A glance at the clock showed that it was almost seven. He lifted his head and saw that Arator was watching him.

“Morning,” he mouthed as he eased out of bed and headed toward the bathroom he used as a child to take a shower. The half-elf nodded silently and glanced toward the bed. Mathias was sitting up, combing his fingers through his hair, looking unreasonably alert.

It was going to be a long and unpleasant day. Anduin headed to the bathroom, sorting out meetings and agenda items from yesterday in his head. He and Turalyon would listen to Mathias’ morning briefing and then he’d meet with the staff and the ones who were involved in yesterday’s incident. 

He still hadn’t decided what to do about Calia Menethil. Mathias would take care of making sure that she was warned about the lies of the Scarlet Crusade pamphlets. Finding her would be a bit of a problem and he thought that the best way of contacting her would be through Alonsus Faol and Netherlight Temple. However, that carried its own risk because it could fuel the idea that he was colluding with the Forsaken. 

He felt trapped in endless circles of “maybe.” The reflection in the bathroom mirror seemed to highlight the shadows under his eyes and the dark stubble on his jaws, a stark reminder of how close he’d been to death. He reached for soap and razor and began carefully shaving. The last thing he wanted was someone nagging him about how ill he looked. 

There was a soft tap on the door. “Mathias is off to SI:7,” Flynn said. “We’re about to order breakfast. What do you want?”

“Coffee for now.” He carefully scraped the angle of his jaw. “I’ll order breakfast after Turalyon gets here.”

“Right. Just so you know, Mathias has assigned people to watch you,24/7.”

“Babysitters, huh?” He said sarcastically.

“Nah. Until he finishes doing background checks on your guards and staff, the only ones he’s trusting with the duties are the Companions… me, Mathias, Aysa, and Valeera. Four rogues. If you try anything silly, we’ll sap you and toss you back in bed till you come to your senses.”

“Thrilling.” He closed his eyes and reminded himself that it was his act of grabbing a poisoned piece of paper without following Mathais’ rules that got him into the situation in the first place. “Right. Thanks, Fairwind.”

“Relax, Wrynn. Remember -- we’re your best mates. It’ll sit better in the long run.”

-~oOo~-

Romano -- “Lord” Tony Romano, as he preferred to be known, nodded toward Youngton’s desk. “He kept most of it in there. We did a thorough search of the house and area. Everyone’s taken precautions against traps and poisons.” He handed a notecase to Mathias. “Here’s the dossiers he kept on the king, Greymane, and Calia Menethil. He’s annotated them. Names his sources, but most are dead by now.”

“How far back do these go?”

“For Menethil and Greymane, twenty years or so. Wrynn starts in Pandaria. There’s some things in there that aren’t in our files.”

“Thanks. I’ll review it back at the office.” Mathias took the folio and tucked it under his arm as he examined the sparse contents of the bookshelves. There were histories of Lordaeron, a few books on archaeology, a standard reference on noble human families, and even a book of old maps but there was nothing that seemed to tie directly into his attack on Anduin. 

“He had most of the manor house closed up in the past year. Seems to be living out of this room and one bedroom and the kitchens,” Romano continued. 

“When did all this start?”

“Sold his horses and gryphons some three years ago, furniture’s gone. Banking records show that he gifted three thousand gold to the Stormwind orphanage in six payments of 500 gold each. The rest of his fortune - five hundred thousand gold -- was taken out of the bank during the last year. It’s not here. No receipts for it, either. He apparently fired his manservant a month ago, according to a note that he left for us.”

“Although he wants us to think nobody else is involved, I still want someone to go investigate that servant. And anyone else serving in the household in the last three months.” 

“Yes, Spymaster.” Romano gestured toward the notecase that Mathias held. “It’s all there in the notes. You’ll want to spend time with them. Some pretty damning stuff in there.”

“Did you find it convincing?”

Romano met his eyes. “Yes.”

“Noted.” That was twice that Romano had called attention to the notes in the leather case. Although the man was irritating and arrogant and dour and a bit too involved in politics, he was a reasonably good investigator. “Renzik and I will go over them carefully back in the office.”

“You’ll want a look at the room at the end of the hall. That’s where he had the poisons made. No trace of the alchemist, though.”

Another loose end that had gone missing, then. Doc Mixlpixl’s report showed that the poison was one of the earliest versions of Medrion’s Powder instead of the formula that they actually developed for the Broken Isles. Youngton hadn’t been to Stormwind in over a decade, so someone within SI:7 must have handed it over to him three years ago. Figuring that one out was going to take some time. 

Mathias prowled through the empty rooms of the Earl’s residence, not certain of what he was looking for or what he hoped to find. The rooms were large and paneled with a fine-grained amber colored wood, the fireplaces were carved marble and the few furnishings left spoke of both wealth and taste. The laboratory held expensive-looking titration tubes but not much else. Youngton’s alchemist, whoever he was, took the portable lab equipment and scales and chemicals and left only the bulky tubes. 

The sales inventories in the notecase recorded fine rugs, paintings, jewelry, and furniture from the finest cabinet makers in the Easter Kingdoms. There was nothing to indicate that Youngton was connected with the Scarlet Crusade or the loyalists who wanted a Menethil -- any Menethil -- back on the throne of Lordaeron.

The Earl had moved out of the large master bedroom, choosing a much smaller side room to sleep in. It was sparsely furnished with a narrow bed and a night stand and a wash basin and jug. There was a chamber pot underneath the neatly made bed. The house hadn’t been re-plumbed for modern times. The closet held only a few suits, well made and well worn and two pairs of shoes of different sizes. The chest of drawers held a few items that were simply stuffed in rather than neatly folded. The last person to live in the house with Youngton was no manservant.

He looked at the suits again, studying each one carefully. Two of the coats seemed to be slightly different sizes. He made a note of the labels. Romano could go talk to the tailors later.

He went back into the kitchen and carefully examined the table and chairs in the dining room as well as the cups left on the kitchen sideboard.

“Romano?”

“Yes, Spymaster.”

“Find out who the second man was who was staying here within the past week.”

“It was just the Earl. No one else.”

He pointed to the cups. “Yesterday morning there was someone with him who was acting as his manservant, who left right after the Earl entered the king’s office area. He seemed to be an older man, about moderate height, clean shaven, with light brown hair that was turning gray. He wore livery-- not the Earl’s colors, I think, but something in a burgundy that was trimmed with a silver. The clothes were distinctive enough that someone would have seen him. Find out what kind of transportation the Earl used to get from here to Stormwind -- spy or gryphon. He couldn’t have made the trip by carriage.”

“Yes, Spymaster.”

“I’m finished here. I’ll start the Stormwind hunt for the manservant. Find out about the transportation and find out about food deliveries in the past month. I’ll see you back at the office..”


	5. With You in Any Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **OUR STORY SO FAR:** An elderly nobleman, Earl Youngton, attempts to assassinate Anduin and most of the Stormwind government with a poison developed by SI:7. Mathias Shaw recognizes the symptoms and stops the attempt, though Anduin nearly dies. Investigations reveal that the Scarlet Brotherhood wants to start a result to put Calia Menethil’s son on the throne. Mathias goes to the earl's estate to see what evidence that he left for SI:7 to find

What Mathias wanted was a long and peaceful evening in their small apartment, lounging together with Flynn and reading to each other. What he got instead was a long and snowy flight back to Stormwind and a storm-washed afternoon in SI:7, going over the Youngton documents with Renzik as thunder grumbled across the sky. He grabbed a snack from the common area’s cabinets and headed to his office, trailed by the goblin. His lower back ached and he was beginning to suspect that there might not be enough coffee in the Eastern Kingdoms to keep him going for another six hours.

There were more than a hundred sheets of paper in Youngton’s leather portfolio. Mathias spread them out on his desk and he and Renzik picked through them, sorting them out by dates. “The earliest pages seem to relate to Gilnaeas and looks like he’s trying to figure out how much of a threat there is to his estate.”

“That’s how I read it. Notice that his handwriting changes and gets smaller about two years ago,” Renzik said, shuffling the papers with his fingertips and adding a few more to one of the stacks. “There’s some old pages on Calia’s disappearance, from about six years ago. Then the newest pages are about Pandaria and some really recent things on Calia.”

Mathias sorted some pages and set them aside. “The pages on Genn are mostly about what a wonderful leader he is. Some points that highlight his effectiveness as a strong leader. They gloss over his quick temper and the fact that he made a lot of poor decisions in the heat of anger.” 

“So, talking points about what a great king he’d be, huh?”

“Pretty much. For Calia, we’ve got a note about a marriage record to an unnamed noble and record of a birth of a son, and both are supposedly found in Lordaeron. No name, though, but there’s dates.” He glanced up. Renzik was staring at a page, frowning. “What did you find?”

“It’s the Pandaria documents. Remember when prince Anduin was captured by the Horde?”

“Yes.”

“It says that Anduin made a treaty with the Horde then to keep them from killing him,” Renzik said grimly as he handed the sheet of paper to Mathias. “Here’s a copy of the agreement. Says the original is written in Common, Orcish… and Thalassian. It basically says that in return for releasing Anduin, Calia to be given to Windrunner to be… converted. Calia’s son is to go and live with Lord Paladin Jesseriah McCree in New Avalon. Notes in the margin say there’s an actual seal-stamped copy in Lordaeron and another in Orgrimmar, assuming anyone could get to either place to find them.”

“Is there more?” He began digging through the stack of papers.

“Oh yeah.” Renzik held up a page that looked as if it came from a diary. “This page says after Varian's death, Anduin gave a folder with the treaties to Madam Goya, along with other things for safe keeping -- includes some letters from Sylvanas. Good luck getting Goya to confirm or deny that she's got anything belonging to Anduin.”

It was damning evidence, indeed. “Does the transcription have any added notes about where this treaty was signed or who witnessed it?”

Renzik flipped the diary page. “Nope. Just says signed in Pandaria and that the signatures are from Sylvannas, Nazgrim, Hellscream. Nazgrim was the one who captured him." He picked up a second page. "Alliance signatures... ” 

He gave a soft grunt, rocking back in his chair as though he’d been hit. 

Mathias was instantly alert.

“Yes?”

“Treaty was signed by Admiral Taylor... and Varian Wrynn.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Right there. Sure looks like Wrynn's signature.” He handed the paper to Mathias.

“He wouldn’t!”

“Wouldn’t he?” Renzik eyed him. “You saw him when Anduin’s ship was lost. You dealt with his temper, his hysteria, his rages. He’d do anything to get the boy back. _Anything._ ”

They stared at each other in silence. “Shaw?” Renzik said softly.

“I don’t believe it. I think it’s been fabricated.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Mathias leaned his elbows on the desk and ran his fingers through his hair. “I think our only hope is Nazgrim. When Youngton wrote this fabrication, everyone but Anduin and Sylvanas were dead. See if you can find him and arrange a meeting with both of us. He'd be able to tell us if this was true. As a Knight of the Ebon Blade, he’d be neutral in this. He has no reason to want Anduin on or off the throne.”

“We don’t know how he feels about Anduin. He might hold a grudge.”

“Might. But if we ask the right questions, we can get the truth whether or not he hates Anduin.” He rubbed his forehead tiredly and froze as a sudden thought hit him. “Romano.”

“What?”

“Romano and his team also saw this. They’ve got to be involved with questioning Nazgrim. I can’t afford to have anyone at SI:7 questioning this.”

Renzik shook his head. “Shaw-- what if Nazgrim confirms the treaty?”

“He can’t. Varian wouldn’t and Anduin wouldn’t do this.” He could feel it in his bones.

“Are you sure? Is a kingdom worth more to him than his only son? What would _you_ do to save your own child?”

Mathias Shaw found that he couldn’t answer that. Not at all.

-~oOo~-

The big clock had chimed the half-hour mark after seven pm when Mathias called a halt and collected the dossier sheets and locked the folder away in his safe-cache. He and Renzik walked silently through Old Town, parting ways at the canal, and he slogged through the icy drizzle to Stormwind Keep and made his way to the royal apartments, checking on the guards as he passed..

Flynn and Anduin were seated at the big desk in the library of the royal suite amid a stack of books and papers. Flynn rose, eyes bright, smile wide and warmer than the sun. “I thought you’d never get here. Saved you some dinner.” He slid his hands under Mathias’ wet cloak and pulled him close, offering a soft kiss of welcome. "Tides, but you look like eighteen leagues of bad roads.” 

“I feel like twenty leagues of bad roads.” 

Flynn took his wet cloak and shook it carefully. “Let’s take this back to the sitting room. There’s food on the sideboard and drink.”

“Take him to the bedchamber, first,” Anduin said as he headed to the hallway. “He can use my armor stand for his leathers. I’ll go check on the food.” He disappeared before Mathias could form a protest.

Flynn smiled. “Them’s orders, mate. Off with that stuff.”

It took a few minutes to completely remove his gear and almost all his weapons. Flynn set each piece carefully in place, wiping down some of the wettest areas with a dry section of the cloak. He raked the coals of the fireplace and put another log on the fire to help warm the room and together they went to the sitting room. 

Anduin met them with a plate of food in his hand. “Sit. Eat,” he said, putting the plate into Mathias’ hand and gesturing toward the couch. “It’s good. Sausage and potatoes. You’ll feel lots better. Do you want tea to drink or beer? We’ve got both.”

“Beer, I think.”

“Beer it is.” He opened a bottle and poured it into a mug as Flynn helped himself to food. He handed the drink to Mathias and went back to the sideboard to select his own dinner.

Flynn kissed him and then settled beside him. Mathias dunked a bit of sausage into the mustard on his plate and took a careful bite, taking pleasure in the crisp mouth feel of the skin and the savory taste of the sausage. The keep’s kitchens were staffed with two of the finest -- and best paid -- chefs in the city. The king’s habit of sending down for “whatever you’ve just fixed for the workers” meant that even the staff ate well.

“I’d like to know what you found out today,” Anduin said as he settled in with a plate of food.

Mathias had carefully thought about how he was going to answer questions like that during the long walk back to the keep. He went with a version of the truth that allowed him to do a little subtle information gathering. “We found Youngton’s stash with the broadsides. They all said pretty much the same thing as we’ve already seen. We’re working on getting the pieces together to put a nail in their propaganda. Our one loose end is Calia’s son.”

Anduin frowned. “That’s one bit that doesn’t make sense. I talked with her for a while there at Arathi and before -- and afterwards in the Netherlight Temple in Dalaran. She mentioned a daughter, but didn’t say anything about a son.”

“Exactly. We’ll be confirming that for ourselves. Right now it looks as if there’s a boy somewhere who’s being trained to act as her son. I’ve sent a message warning her that she was going to be a high-level target for the Scarlet Brotherhood and telling her to take precautions. Hopefully she’ll tell Lillian Voss. We can rest easier with Voss on guard over her.”

“Is it possible that this is Arthas’ son?”

Mathias shook his head. “We don’t know. Back in the day, there were rumors that Arthas was bedding some of the local women, but he didn’t have a consort and didn’t appear to be seriously interested in anyone but Jaina. It didn’t seem important back then. By now, that trail’s gone too cold to follow.”

“Any idea how you’re going to find this child who’s supposed to be Calia’s?”

“A few.” He yawned again. “The broadsheet suggests that they’re going to try and manipulate Genn, so we’re starting on a list of people who are around Genn and Mia. We know generally who’s in their inner circles, but that’s changed since Teldrassil. Mia’s very concerned about the children, so that’s the place to start to look and see if there are any blonde children around the age of twelve who are almost constantly near them.”

“It may be hard to tell if Mia’s got a favorite.”

“It will be. However, there are a few things we can look for to sort out which boy’s the most likely,” Mathias said. “He’ll be fully human, not worgen, and although they’ll be pretending that he’s a Gilnaean, his lineage won’t add up. I’ve pulled one of my best worgen operatives, Mirabelle Amrell, back to Stormwind and she’s helping out in the refugee camp now. She’ll be giving us daily reports on the situation.”

“You won’t hurt the child when you find him.” It was a command, not a request.

“We won’t. If he exists, when I find him, we’ll decide what we want to do with him. But first we’ve got to find out if he’s real. And that’s as far as we got today. There are still a lot of unanswered questions.” He looked down at his mug and took the last swallow of beer. “And meanwhile, we’ve got a change of sleeping arrangements for tonight.”

Anduin made a face. “Where am I being sent now?”

“Nowhere.” Mathias stood up and moved his plate and mug to the pile of dishes on the sideboard. “It’s too inconvenient to move you and then get you up after just a few hours to get you back here for your meeting with Turalyon. Besides, I don’t have a safe house set up for you at the moment.”

“Change of guards, then. You and Flynn headed home?”

“No. We’re your bodyguards for the evening. We’ll sleep in your room. I’m putting a chair in front of the door. I’ll sleep in that one and Flynn can move a chair near your bed.”

“Or you can both sleep on the bed with me.”

Flynn nodded affably. “I’m down for that.”

Mathias opened his mouth to protest, more out of habit than anything else, but Anduin held up a hand. “That’s how I usually handle things -- put a chair beside the door so that anyone coming in makes a noise. The bed’s far enough away from the door that you have time to look and react to whoever’s trying to get in. It’s simple, but it works really well.”

”You’ve been overruled on this one, mate,” Flynn grinned. “Besides, we’re all pretty done in by the last few days. I’ve had to do the chair-sleeping thing before while on guard and it’s a lot easier hopping out of bed to smack someone than it is suddenly having to sort out yourself, a chair, and a club.”

-~oOo~-

Anduin woke briefly in the middle of the night and lay staring up at the ceiling, listening to the men breathing softly beside him. It was a comforting sound though an odd one after a lifetime of sleeping alone. If he’d been one of those ancient despots of fantastic tales, he could have told his magical companions, “send me up several someones to fill up these ancient walls; a family to talk with and laugh with when nights get long -- someone to sleep with; to lie next to in the warm darkness and take comfort from the sound of their breathing” -- or something equally florid. It seemed to take a lot of flowery language to motivate otherworldly beings to grant wishes like that.

The exception to that rule was Wrathion. The dragon seemed to be a force of nature, unmoved by suggestions or pleas. Like Anduin, the only family that he had was one that he created -- at this moment ‘family’ was his four Companions along with Jaina and Genn and Magni. That would change in the future -- a wife, children, and if he lived long enough, grandchildren. But that was a distant future. 

At the moment, it was enough just to lie in bed and feel the warmth of the two men who lay sleeping beside him and to hear the soft sounds of breathing as they slept.

To feel… not alone.

Most of the time he could handle it; the sense of being too strange; too uncanny; too unusual for the world. People wanted his attention and his support, which meant that a lot of times he listened more than he talked. And in the very bleakest of his moods it was painful to understand that his complex thought processes were sometimes very hard for others to understand.

A shared bed like this wasn’t the end of the loneliness he felt sometimes but it was a comfort.

He lay between them, surrounded by their warmth. Shaw was on his left, balanced on the very edge of the bed, his back to Anduin. The thin shirt he wore made his back look smooth and unscarred in the dim light. Barely-seen shadows faintly defined the sharp angles of his shoulder blades and the length of his spine. 

Flynn had taken the side of the bed nearest the door; as he pointed out to the others, anyone who came through the door was going to be greeted by two hundred twenty pounds of annoyed Kul Tiran, followed by a hundred and sixty pounds of stabby Spymaster -- a combination guaranteed to stop almost anything.

Like Mathias, Flynn was lying on his side, curled away from him. He imagined them for a moment with their positions swapped, curled toward one another, warming each other with their breaths. The Spymaster had changed greatly in the half-year since he and Flynn moved in together. The old Mathias Shaw would have been drowsing in the chair in front of the door, still in full armor, in pain and likely hungry. The new one had learned to forge bonds of trust and now allowed a few others to help him when he needed it.

He was stronger for that trust, though Anduin wasn’t sure that the Spymaster recognized that newly-born part of his personality.

He glanced at Flynn and smiled at the broad bulwark of the man’s muscular shoulders. On a whim, Anduin shyly reached out a hand, wanting to feel skin-to-skin contact. He held his breath as he eased his knuckles against Flynn’s back, but the Kul Tiran didn’t wake up. After a moment, he uncurled his index finger, and then slowly let his hand relax and finally the back of his hand was resting against warm bare skin.

Flynn muttered something sleepy as he rolled over. His hand folded over Anduin’s hand, tangling their fingers together. Blue-gray eyes flickered open, looking straight at him. Anduin froze, not daring to move.

Flynn grinned at him and gave a saucy wink, then planted a kiss on Anduin’s knuckles. He pulled their joined hands against his chest and closed his eyes.

“Cheeky sot,” Anduin muttered.

He could feel the vibration of Flynn’s soft laughter.


	6. Will Stand Your Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **OUR STORY THIS FAR:** An elderly nobleman, Earl Youngton, attempts to assassinate Anduin and most of the Stormwind government with a poison developed by SI:7. Mathias Shaw recognizes the symptoms and stops the attempt, though Anduin nearly dies. Investigations reveal that the Scarlet Brotherhood wants to start a result to put Calia Menethil’s son and at the assassin’s estate are some documents that say Anduin and Varian signed a secret treaty to get the Horde to release Anduin from their custody in Pandaria. The evidence looks convincing -- and may have convinced some of the SI:7 agents who found it.

In order to prove Anduin’s innocence, Mathias Shaw had to be certain that every single fact in the four broadsheets was a lie. Most of the details were about Calia Menethil and started with her resurrection in the Netherlight Temple, so he started with that angle. Three of the five messages he sent to Dalaran had been answered. Calia Menethil was the only one who hadn’t responded, but he hoped that Lillian Voss could persuade her to meet with him.

That meant traveling to Dalaran on two separate days to ask his questions; the one city that Mathias never wanted to visit again and the place where he’d been held captive by the dreadlord Detheroc for what seemed like forever. He’d spent years since his release carefully mending the damage that Detheroc had done to SI:7’s reputation in the name of Mathias Shaw. But years could not erase all the memories of what the demon had done to him personally or the feeling of revulsion every time the city’s name was mentioned.

But he was a spy and the master of spies. He never turned away from ugly truth and uglier tasks. So he would make two trips to Dalaran personally to get his answers -- in and out quickly each time because he was the only one who knew the right questions to ask. 

He requisitioned a pair of hearthstones from the SI:7 quartermaster; one linked to Dalaran and one linked back to Stormwind and then checked his gear for the eighth time. Delaying wasn’t going to help. He activated the hearthstone and felt the familiar stomach-dropping wrench of the active portal and then he was in the arrival area. 

The first stop confronted the worst of his nightmares; the entry into the Hall of Shadows where the leaders of the Uncrowned made their headquarters. He showed his badge to Red Findle and made his way through the secret passageway to the damp gray areas of the Hall. A worgen woman in very unremarkable gray clothing was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. She unlocked a different door and led him toward a private room where the head of the Uncrowned waited. 

Ravenholdt was not particularly delighted to see Mathias. “I’ve heard from Lillian Voss. She will meet you here tomorrow with Calia Menethil. They're coming in from Orgrimmar. And here’s the list of priests involved with the founding of the Netherlight Temple as well as everyone currently assigned there as staff. And now I think I need to know what’s going on.”

He handed Ravenholdt copies of the flyers from Tirisfal Glades. “Someone seems to be putting out a lot of lies in order to start a rebellion that’s focused around a fictitious son of Calia Menethil. We’re trying to track down the source. I’d like to have access to your dossier on Calia Menethil as well.”

Ravenholdt nodded and wrote something on a piece of paper. He walked to the door and handed it to the attendant. “You can read it here in my office. You’re welcome to make notes. Anything else?”

“What do you know about Calia’s being returned to life as Forsaken -- about the ceremony in Netherlight Temple?”

Ravenholdt leaned against his desk and folded his arms. “Everyone was talking about it for weeks. Basically, it was a miracle. She was dead and somehow they brought her back to life, but as a Forsaken who is somehow different than the usual one. It was so odd that we interviewed several priests.”

“And you’re sure that the person who went to Arathi Highlands was the real Calia Menethil and that she was really alive at the time?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

He pulled his notepad out and penciled the information on a page. “How did you determine this?”

Ravenholdt bridled. “You’re questioning my sources?”

He shook his head. “We’re going to be asked this. I can say ‘Ravenholdt told me’ but that’s secondhand information. The Crusade may try to frame it as a conspiracy to keep the pretend heir from the throne. I need sources that can’t be overturned that show she was alive before Arathi and then that she was resurrected after Arathi.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” There was a brief knock on the door and the same worgen woman entered with a folder. “Helys has the dossier. She’ll show you to a desk in the library where you can read and take notes to your heart’s content.”

“I need another favor.”

Ravenholdt eyed him sourly, wordlessly.

“Nazgrim has agreed to meet me today. Can you suggest a place?”

“Oh, _do_ let me translate that one -- you’d like to use one of our secondary spaces, right?”

“Yes.”

“The weapons shop has an area you can use.” He took a pen and scrawled a brief note and handed it to Mathias. ”Good luck with him. Death hasn’t improved a lot of things.”

“Thanks.”

Ravenholdt straightened and took a step forward. “I mean it, Shaw. This is a dangerous game. We may not be close friends but you can count on us to back you up.”

He bowed and smiled slightly. “Thank you”

“And don’t forget to eat lunch.”

Ravenholdt, confound it, remembered all the little details, even decades later.

-~oOo~-

The keep’s kitchens were a hive of activity as the time for the evening meal began, with minor chefs and assistants and prep workers scuttling in many directions under the supervision of Robbie Flay. Flynn strolled in with the pumpkins he’d bought and caught the chef’s eye. “I’m told you’ve got a little one who loves these,” he said with a friendly grin.

“Oh yes! My daughter. Not so little any more, though. She’s married now and expecting a baby any day. But she still loves pumpkin pancakes.” He hefted them and gave them a rap with his forefinger. “Perfect!”

“So what’s ready to eat? We’ve got the Pandaren and Valeera and the king and then Mathias and me. Mathias will be working late, so he’ll need something that can be kept warm for later.” He looked around and leaned in, conspiratorially. “And Himself’s been slaving over paperwork all day and I think he’s got a headache.”

“I have just the thing!” The chef called for a large basket and started layering bottles into it. “The three blue ones are for the king - they’re his favorite and they’ve got just a touch of borage. Good for aches. These here are a favorite of Master Shaw. Here’s some for you as well. Valeera likes wine and this should be more than enough. For the Pandaren… hmmm…” he looked around the kitchen and then came back with four more bottles. “Barley tea, of course, but here’s some Stormstout as well. Jack can help you carry them up.”

“Brilliant!” He was more than a little relieved. After a day on the dock inspecting repairs to the _Bold Arva_ and dealing with contracts, Flynn was less than enthused about hauling a basket of heavy cargo up the stairs and down the long hallways to the royal suite. 

“Now, as for food…” he led the way to the stove area where several types of dishes were being prepared for the staff and the guards. 

A few minutes later Flynn was on his way upstairs, followed by the bottle-toting assistant. He greeted the guards at the entry to the royal suite and whispered the password and then dismissed Jack, who looked marginally relieved to find out that he was not expected to tote the bottles all the way to the royal suite. One of the guards set the bottle basket inside the door as Flynn trudged up the hall, past the second set of guards, and into the royal suite itself.

“Dinner,” he announced.

Anduin emerged from his library, followed by Valeera. Aysa walked briskly up from the study, notes in her hand and a flock of pencils stuck into her hair like twigs on a particularly messy bird’s nest. Flynn thumped the basket down on the sideboard. “Sort things out. I’ll go get the drinks. The things in the covered pan are for Mathias. Just set it on the hearth to keep it warm.”

Anduin helped himself to one of the meat pies and slouched down on a nearby couch. He smiled and accepted a bottle of tea from Flynn, lifting it in a lighthearted toast. “Barely in time, Fairwind. I was about to eat my pens.”

“Don’t do that. The cook will be insulted.”

Aysa slumped into a chair. “I’m afraid that we’re going to have to add people to the watch, Anduin. The expressions on the Duke’s face at the meeting this afternoon wasn’t pleasant. They’re used to seeing Shaw with you, and Valeera just isn’t an acceptable substitute. That leaves me and Fairwind and I’ve got a clinic to organize and Fairwind’s got a shipping company. Any news on how quickly SI:7 can clear another set of guardians?”

“Two days, according to Renzik,” he said around a mouthful of pie. “They’ve got to do the keep guards first. With the four of you to watch over me, they’re prioritizing the keep.”

Valeera nodded sleepily. “It’s not that I don’t love you, cub, but I’ve got places to go and people to stab.”

“Well, Flynn’s here now. Both of you can run off and get stabby now. Mathias should be here … eventually.”

Aysa rose, chuckling, dusting crumbs off her chin. “Don’t stab anyone I wouldn’t,” she said as she left, Valeera on her heels.

“Just us mates,” Flynn said as he fished a bottle of stout from the basket. “Mathias sent a note, said he’s likely to be very late. Fancy a game of cards?”

“I don’t know a lot of card games, I’m afraid.”

“I can teach you a few,” Flynn said with the sort of tone that a shark might use in encouraging a tasty morsel to swim a bit closer. “Easy stuff. Sailors don’t go in for complicated things like that one called ‘plancheons’ or ‘tankeret.’ You’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

“Am I likely to end up owing you the castle or some such?”

“You’ll never find out without taking a chance.”


	7. Because You Can Show Him Your Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Our Heroes Indulge in Some Non-Gratuitous Smut
> 
> Anduin/Shaw/Fairwind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to Mice for suggestions and betas on this chapter!

Convenience dictated their sleeping arrangements again. Mathias finally arrived at close to 11 pm, drenched from the heavy storm and bone tired after the long day. Together Anduin and Flynn toweled him off, made sure he ate, and then more-or-less bullied him into bed where they joined him.

It seemed the most natural thing in the world.

Anduin pulled the sheet up to his chin and turned onto his side. He had always welcomed nighttime, when he could put away the responsibilities of the day and take time in comforting rituals such as reading or daydreaming. Sleep could be a problem and often filled with nightmares but the night time itself with the sleeping dark landscape and quiet city was his favorite time of day. 

There would be no nightmares tonight, lying next to his two trusted Companions. Company was the best antidote for bad dreams. 

He eyed Flynn, and a hint of mischief and curiosity rose in him. Flynn was handsome; the kind of man that Anduin found appealing. The idea of sharing a kiss or more with Flynn was attractive -- but off-limits, perhaps. He belonged to Mathias, though there were some hints that there could be room for others in some situations.

A few weeks before, thinking that Anduin was desperate to find a sexual partner, Mathias had indicated rather awkwardly that both he and Flynn might be available to help ease some of the frustration. Anduin had gently turned the Spymaster down -- but not because he wasn’t attracted to Mathias. The problem was that Anduin had seen his father with other men a very few times -- and in fact, had seen Varian with Mathias. 

Varian Wrynn was the sort of man who took whoever and whatever he wanted and assumed that everyone agreed with him. He didn’t doubt that Mathias had gone willingly with Varian and had even agreed to the act. But there was nothing kind or gentle or affectionate in the rutting. The brief glance that Anduin had of his father bending over Mathias and the Spymaster’s anguished face haunted him for years.

Still, he was a little curious and touching someone wasn’t the same thing as bending someone over a desk and fucking them roughly. So, greatly daring and with his own home-brewed logic to bolster him, he reached out and slowly moved his hand into the warm space beside Flynn and after a moment relaxed his finger to touch the skin of his back, just as he'd done the night before. 

This time there wasn’t any response, but he remembered how quickly Flynn responded and waited for twenty breaths before daring another finger, and then another. 

Nothing happened so he eased the palm of his hand onto the place where his fingers lay and smiled to himself as he closed his eyes, pleased at finally achieving his goal. He started focusing on the other things about being in bed with another person; the details that he wanted to remember in the future -- the scent of another person’s body, the regular rise and fall of someone else's breathing, the way the bed’s mattress sagged around their bodies. He allowed himself a small fantasy about someone sleeping beside him, exploring in his mind the idea of whether he'd prefer to have a man or a woman lying next to him.

His daydream was interrupted when Flynn suddenly rolled toward him and caught Anduin’s fingers before he could pull his arm back. Again there was the brief kiss to the knuckles, but this time Flynn shifted his body forward and pulled their twined hands close to his face.

Anduin held his breath, unsure of how to react or how he wanted to react. Flynn leaned toward him until their noses were only a few inches apart and his breath was warm on their joined hands. His eyes glittered in the dim light and his smile was a corsair’s smile, bold and inviting. 

“Your move, mate,” he said softly and moved his head toward Anduin almost imperceptibly.

Anduin felt light-headed; almost dizzy, as his pulse thundered in his ears. He swallowed hard, then took a deep breath, and greatly daring, leaned in and kissed Flynn…

...and immediately discovered that he knew nothing at all about kissing.

Kissing, to Anduin, had simply been a matter of gently pressing lips together in a brief suction-like act; a smooch that was a brief contact and a promise. Nobles kissed knuckles, kissed cheeks, occasionally kissed lips in a chaste greeting. A slightly longer contact was considered sexual or something that married couples did. He had seen a few commoners kissing at taverns but not at close range. In his mind, kissing was all very tidy and very formal and he was fairly confident that he knew how the whole thing worked.

Flynn’s kiss shattered all his beliefs. Flynn's kiss was nothing like he’d ever experienced or imagined.

There was nothing chaste or formal about Flynn’s kiss. It was fiery, passionate, and erotic and certainly not dry or formal. Lips moved, warm and wet and slippery against his mouth. Flynn’s head moved, too, as he released Anduin’s hands from his grasp and began sliding his own hands up and down the length of Anduin’s torso as if he was stroking a cat. 

“Relax,” he whispered. His hand slid upward through the hairs on Anduin's chest as Flynn began kissing along the corner of his mouth and then up his cheek. Skin tingled in the wake of that touch. A warm tongue probed his ear; a slippery probe that he felt in the pit of his stomach and in his groin. He tried to focus, to match what Flynn was doing with that clever mouth, but the increasing erotic intensity of Flynn's touch distracted him. His cock was hard and heavy with need. A tongue brushed his lips and then slid inside his mouth; startling him.

Flynn pulled back a fraction of an inch and stroked his cheek. “It’s all part of kissing,” he whispered, his smile wide and his mouth sensual. He leaned forward and captured Anduin’s lips again. Anduin twisted his head and leaned in to meet him, matching move with move, wanting nothing more than to lie so close that there would be no space between them. The slide of their mouths against each other made him harder than ever. He reached out and slid his hands along the soft, thick hair on Flynn’s chest, focusing on the exotic and erotic texture and wondered if he should let his fingers wander lower.

A pair of hands slid down his sides and across his back. He opened his eyes, confused for a brief moment. Then he felt the brush of stiff hairs against the back of his neck and just as his mind supplied the name, “Mathias”, teeth gently captured the nape of his neck.

He couldn't breathe. It felt as if every nerve in his body suddenly fired off at once. 

He arched backward, head back, mouth open, moaning softly as his body flattened against Mathias’s naked body, feeling the hardness of his erection, feeling the man’s arms slipping around his body and then he was swept up in his own climax, spilling his seed into his clothing and at that moment the hands stilled and mouths stilled as though everything stopped just to watch him.

He stared into the darkness, boneless, panting. There was movement beside him as Flynn raised himself on one elbow and Mathias curled around and over Anduin’s body. Their lips met in a slow and sensual kiss, hungry and full of promise. He watched them, feeling his own arousal rising again; a sense of hunger coupled with longing. The world of the Stormwind nobles was a world of arranged marriages and relationships. He had never seen two people so deeply and passionately in love.

His own choices would be limited by the politics of power. Was there any way for him to find the same kind of love and bonding for himself?

They both chuckled as if they were sharing a private joke and then settled back down onto the bed, bracketing him. Hands gently stripped Anduin’s underwear from his body. Mathias curled against him, deftly tangling their fingers and together their hands began slowly exploring Flynn’s naked body. 

The sensation of taking time to learn how a lover’s body felt was not something that Anduin had thought about or read about. The few books he found on sex in the library were turning out to be almost no help at all. Coupling was described in clinical terms, as if describing animals mating and descriptions in the Steamy Romance Novel books tended to get very vague at certain points and were more focused on anatomies of very unusual size -- descriptions that sometimes convinced him that he would be judged as a very inadequate lover.

This was something more erotic that he’d ever read about or dreamed about.

Mathias nuzzled against his shoulder and together they traced the lines of Flynn’s mouth and body with their joined hands. He learned the textures of hair and skin, the shapes of muscles along arms and torso and neck, learned how the right touch on Flynn’s nipples would make him twitch and moan very softly and how a finger traced along the hollow of his hips made him arch toward them, thrusting. 

Mathias guided his hand and they both wrapped their fingers around Flynn’s hard cock, teasing the slit, feeling it twitch, feeling how his thrusts quickened until his cock pulsed and the wetness of his climax spilled across their hands. The sea-grey eyes closed in bliss as they gentled and stroked him. His breathing slowed and he smiled that beautiful, lazy smile at them both as he relaxed into their gentle touches. 

Then Flynn leaned forward with one of those electrifying kisses and nudged Anduin to roll over to face Mathias and he looked into those green eyes, a little uncertain, a little hesitant. His heart was hammering and he could hear the pulse thundering in his ears. Mathias met him with a smile and a soft kiss, braiding his fingers through Anduin’s hair and pulling him close.

Flynn slid his arms slid along Anduin's and tangled his fingers as Mathias had done. Together they explored Mathias’ body, and he learned how differently the Spymaster reacted. Mathias’ skin, usually wrapped in its leather shell, was far more sensitive than Flynn’s to feather-light touches. He gasped and moaned and his hips bucked when they trailed their fingers down along the line of hair toward his groin. His eyes were closed, his head lolled back as their fingers curled tightly around his erection. Mathias thrust hard into their doubled fists as he bent forward and kissed Anduin hungrily, moaning softly as he climaxed.

Mathias went limp against the bed sheets, eyes closed, mouth open, smiling. Anduin reached up and touched his cheek, cradling his face, brushing the sweaty mane of red hair back into place. Flynn spooned against Anduin. Mathias tucked his head under Anduin’s chin and lay with them in the tangle of sheets. 

They didn’t speak. There didn’t seem to be a need for words. Anduin nuzzled against Mathias’ hair and closed his eyes and drifted into a sweet and dreamless sleep.


	8. Solomon Says

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An elderly nobleman, Earl Youngton, attempts to assassinate Anduin and most of the Stormwind government with a poison developed by SI:7. Mathias Shaw recognizes the symptoms and stops the attempt, though Anduin nearly dies. Investigations reveal that the Scarlet Brotherhood wants to start a result to put Calia Menethil’s son and at the assassin’s estate are some documents that say Anduin and Varian signed a secret treaty to get the Horde to release Anduin from their custody in Pandaria. The evidence looks convincing -- and may have convinced some of the SI:7 agents who found it.
> 
> Mathias Shaw is on the hunt for information to disprove the lie.

The chair at the bedroom door scraped and Flynn was out of bed and halfway to the door before he heard Aysa Cloudsinger call, “All right, boys. Day’s started. If you’re not out here for breakfast in five minutes, we’re coming in.”

He heard the sounds of covers being hastily thrown back as he reached for his pants and shirt. “You’re awfully saucy this morning, love,” he shouted back through the door. “You and Valeera have a nice stabby time last night?” If she was going to get cheeky with him at this hour, by the tides he’d hand it right back to her.

Anduin was emerging from the sheets like a particularly bedraggled butterfly climbing out of a cocoon. Mathias, who seemed to have some sort of record-setting method of getting dressed in spite of all the buttons on his clothing, was already reasonably presentable. He tugged the chair aside and reached for the doorknob as Flynn swept him up in a long and passionate kiss and then nibbled his ear just for good measure. “Tonight,” he promised as he nuzzled Mathias' ear.

“Scoundrel.” His bright grin warmed Flynn’s heart. 

" _Your_ scoundrel." He bumped noses with Mathias and turned to collect his socks.

Mathias waved to Aysa and Valeera on the way to the bathroom. “You should know that we cleared Turalyon’s son, Arator. I’m going to add him to the team here, mostly because he doesn’t seem to have places to go or things to do. And we can send him to meetings. No one will object to him.”

“Where’ll you be today?” Valeera called after him.

“SI:7. Then Dalaran. Again,” was the answer.

-~oOo~-  


It was Earth Warder Wrathion's opinion that playing a waiting game with the Spymaster of the Alliance was always an interesting bit of mental chess. The man apparently didn't like dragons -- but then he didn't seem to like that many people or things -- except, perhaps knives. Showing up early to a meeting place had its advantages, but the question was “how early” -- Shaw, for all anyone knew, could have had his agents watching any meeting place for days. On the other hand, a very late arrival was more likely to be met with a minion or nothing at all.

Wrathion decided that precise punctuality would be the best choice. He presented himself at the weapons’ shop, had Left and Right amuse themselves browsing the weapons, and walked through the well-hidden door into a small room with some rather well-worn furniture. He could have chosen to meet in the Violet Hold or even one of the private rooms at the Legerdemain Lounge. But this secret chamber meeting meant that whatever Shaw wanted, he didn’t want anyone else finding out about it -- and that was interesting.

The human wasn’t in the mood for banter, either. The frown lines on the Spymaster’s face were slightly deeper than usual and as he paced, his jaw clenching and unclenching and his walk was a little stiff -- not the stiffness of bone disease but a shortened stride with lowered head and clenched hands and tight shoulders; the mark of someone who was deeply angry. The very unflappable man was agitated, but was hiding it well. 

“I’m told you can sense if an item or a person is corrupted by the Old Gods’ influence,” Shaw said abruptly.

“Certainly. And cleanse it, too.” Out of habit, he checked the Spymaster’s aura. No hint of a taint there, in spite of the urgency and anger. He draped himself in the chair, waiting for the human to get impatient and start talking. He was a dragon; he had all the time in the world.

Shaw went very still and turned his bright green gaze on Wrathion. “I need you to check Anduin. I also would ask if you are willing to check several items that I found.”

“Something that you have on you?”

He held out a gloved hand with a bottle. “Be careful. It contained the poison used on the king. We’ve neutralized it, but it would be best if you could examine it without touching it.”

Wrathion stared at it, probing. “There is… no trace of any of the old gods.” He leaned back in his chair and tilted his head at Shaw. “I’m sure you’ve had it checked for enspellment - I can confirm that there’s none of that.”

“That’s a relief. Will you come to Stormwind with me? It’s urgent.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’m not particularly interested in getting punched by Anduin again. And before you suggest a disguise, he knows me well enough that he can spot me through most of them. There’s no chance that I can waltz in, pretending to be the new chambermaid. It might fool others but it won’t fool him.”

“I want you to come to his apartments during the day when he’s at meetings. He’s got some important ones today and tomorrow with people who have trouble understanding when they should stop talking. If I miscalculate and he comes in on us, I'll take the blame. But I urgently need to know if there’s any corruption there.”

Wrathion folded his arms. “Why don’t you tell me what this is really about.”

“I take it you heard of the assassination attempt.”

“I did.” In fact it had been the main topic of conversation for both Horde and Alliance champions. He’d sent several of his Blacktalon agents to the cities to find out more, but their results had been disappointing. Someone tried to poison the king. The poisoner was dead, the king was staying in his rooms for now. 

What was bothersome was that the “flavor” of the information ran the gamut from “heroic rescue of noble king” to “justified attempt on a traitorous ruler who needs to be killed.” While he would have expected the “noble king” to be a narrative from the Alliance side, he heard it from the Horde side as well. Anduin’s behavior at Orgrimmar and his help for Saurfang won him a lot of respect from that faction. 

But the “evil ruler who destroys his people” details were also coming from Alliance voices, and that felt very wrong.

Shaw had resumed his stiff-legged pacing. “There’s something in his room that I want checked out. And I want to make sure first that Anduin really is free of the corruption of N’zoth.”

“What has he done that makes you think he might be …” he groped for a phrase in Common that resembled the Draconic _khuludug_ , “...something evil?” 

“Nothing, but there has to be a reason that Youngton wanted to kill him.”

The opening was too good to miss. “Humans seldom seem to need a reason to kill each other.”

Shaw glanced at him sharply and he relented. As satisfying as it was to annoy the smug and haughty shorter-lived races, he did feel that he owed the Alliance -- and Anduin -- something. “I will bring Left and Right with me. Where do you want to meet, and when, and how long will I be staying?”

Shaw rose. “I need to speak to the rest of the Uncrowned. Meet me in ninety minutes at the statue of Antonidas. I’ll get you in and out of the royal quarters tonight, so you can be back here sometime tomorrow morning.” He nodded in farewell and vanished as soon as he stepped out of the door.

Wrathion stared after him thoughtfully. In spite of his apparent worry over protecting Anduin, the Spymaster’s next move was to go and speak to the very organization that billed itself as “slayer of kings.” Something interesting was going on in Stormwind, and although it might not be the business of dragons, it seemed like a good time for a certain dragon to stick his very long nose into human events.

-~oOo~-

Mathias nodded to "Red" and headed down the long stairs, hoping that the Uncrowned would have some good news for him. Renzik's report that his team had lost the trail of Youngton's supposed manservant in Elwyn Forest was disheartening. The meeting with Calia Menethil and Lillian Voss was short and relatively unfruitful. Calia gave him names and dates, but the only documents that would confirm them were in the now-destroyed library of Lordaeron. With the day already off to a bad start, he entered the lair of the Uncrowned.

Ravenholdt didn't seem particularly eager for Mathias to stay. He placed three sheets of notepaper on his desk and gestured at them. “We browsed copies of the peerage books from thirty years ago as well as the most recent one to confirm what was recorded about the Menethils. The books record that she married someone of low status and as a result was no longer in the line of succession. We also found a Forsaken who’d known Calia in life -- who knew her only as the wife of a laborer. Seems that after she was disinherited, she and her husband lived in Tirisfal briefly, practically under her father’s nose, and then settled in Darrowshire. There’s the proof you need -- her neighbor's statement and the records in the _Book of the Peerage_.”

"Does it name her husband?"

"You're out of luck there, but it does mention a daughter. The most recent _Peerage_ is from two years ago, but everything I'm telling you is in all of the books going back fifteen years."

He felt as if a part of the weight on his soul lifted. “Thank you. That confirms what Calia told us. I need to check with the publisher to see when the next edition is coming out. Calia gave me the dates of the death of her family. I wish she would let them publish her husband's name, but she's a Menethil and is very firmly stuck in Lordaeron manners and tradition.”

“The second sheet there is a copy of some old intercepted messages that we transcribed. Hellscream and Sylvanas had a public disagreement over her use of Val’kyr. He refused to let her use them to create more Forsaken.”

“So it’s not likely he would have agreed to make Calia a Forsaken.”

“Not according to that, no.” Ravenholdt walked back to his desk. “That’s not good proof for anything, but it might be useful.”

“At this point I’ll take any evidence, no matter how slight.”

“By the way, some of the people stationed in Hearthglen have heard about these Crusade broadsides. Looks like the word is getting out, Shaw. Couldn’t find out who started it, but the flyers have been seen posted on trees near the Scarlet Monastery. Sounds like they’re ramping up the propaganda. There’s names and notes on that third page. ”

The weight on his soul was back. 

-~oOo~-

There were only three people near the statue of Antonidas when Mathias walked up; a male gnome with bright purple hair, a human woman, and a half-elf woman. “I hope none of those is a magical disguise,” he said sourly. “I’ve had the portals in Stormwind re-spelled so that magic-based disguises are removed in transit.”

“But shapeshifting doesn’t count,” The gnome’s eyes glowed red for a brief moment. “Otherwise you’d have a lot of very upset worgen wandering around. And Left’s disguise is simply some very good makeup that she’s had a lot of practice using. She’s quite skilled.”

The apparent half-elf bowed. If you looked closely, you could see that the woman’s mouth was slightly distorted, her upper and lower lips repositioned to hide her small tusks. 

Mathias nodded. “We’ll exit the portal room and go down the ramp. Once we’re on the ground, we’ll simply walk to Old Town and I’ll set you up in a room. You’ll wait there and I’ll come get you at 3 am. Then we do a quick in-and-out investigation and I’ll have a mage waiting to transport you to any location you like.”

Wrathion held up a hand. “One other thing -- payment. I’m not doing this out of the kindness of my heart, you understand.”

Once a dragon, always a dragon. “What is it you want? I’m not a rich man, and I’m not going to give you things that don’t belong to me.”

“In the future, I’m going to ask you for a favor. I want you to grant it, no matter what you might think of it.”

He scowled down at Wrathion’s gnome form. “I’ll agree to personally do a favor for you, within limits and if you give me a good enough explanation. But I’m not one of your Blacktalons and you’re going to have to convince me that you need this … thing… done.”

Wrathion heaved a dramatic sigh. “Oh very well. If you insist. Give me a marker, though, as a token.” 

“We’re wasting time. I’ll give you a token later. I don’t carry these things around with me in case I need to hand them out.”

“Humans. Unprepared for everything,” Wrathion snorted as Mathias led them toward the Stormwind portal gate.

-~oOo~-

Anduin blinked awake, jerked from an afternoon nap by a nightmare of being slowly strangled. He took a deep breath to calm his pounding heart and shifted around in the bed. Arator lifted his head and looked at him.

He forced a smile that he didn’t feel. “I’m fine. Just thirsty.” 

"I'll get you some water.

"No need. I'll get some on the way back to the study. Got to finish the last of that paperwork." He paused, listening. There were voices in one of the rooms down the hall -- it sounded as if Mathias was back. He followed the sounds of conversation into his study and found the rest of his Companions and a dragon clustered around his desk.

“Wrathion?”

The dragon held up his hands, gesturing for peace. “You hit me once, and I deserved it. But this time I’m here on invitation.” 

Mathias stood next to him, his face unreadable. “He's here at my invitation. I’ve been worried about the aftereffects of the poison - I think that Youngton had modified the recipe because the healers had a very hard time keeping you alive. Wrathion can detect the influence of N’Zoth and possibly other corruptors. I want to be sure that there’s nothing else affecting you.”

“Oh.” 

“I did notice that your desk there is… very unusual.” Wrathion nodded toward the Glass Bead table, “and it’s linked to several other tables. But I was able to reassure everybody that it’s not some sort of evil artifact.”

“It isn’t, and it’s none of your business.” He moved to stand protectively between the dragon and the game board.

The infernal reptile smiled and draped himself artistically on the nearest couch. He had an annoying habit of making himself at home in any environment -- even ones where he wasn’t particularly welcome. “I also came to offer you a proposal,” Wrathion added. “When I had a look at things, I realized your Companions are being stretched thin. They’ve got other duties they need to be tending to and they need rest, and you need protectors that everyone can trust. So I’m offering you Left and Right to be your guardians for the next two weeks.”

The two women stepped out of the shadows and nodded briefly. “You know them, and I know you trust them. If you let me -- let us -- to help you, then this allows your Companions to take care of other important things for you, such as finding out what made this earl suddenly decide regicide was the right and proper thing to do. Shaw and the rest will be hampered if they’re also locked in a room guarding you all day and all night.” He looked smugly satisfied.

Although the rebuke was well-deserved, Anduin felt a rising tide of irritation. Most of his life had been spent watching others make decisions for him -- who he should talk with, where he should go, how to keep him safe. He scowled at the worried faces. “Very well. I can’t hide here forever. The longer that I stay out of view, the more unstable the situation becomes. Secure the common areas. I want things to get back to some form of normal.”

Wrathion crossed his legs and draped a long arm across the back of the couch. “It’s a very poor idea to force the lion into a corner, my friends. That’s something I learned long ago. However, Anduin, if you’re going to emerge from your lovely and secure suite, I really do insist we find some Lion’s Guards plate for Left and Right and appoint them as your guards.”

“I’ll be fine with my own guards, thank you.”

The dragon swung his legs to the floor. “No you won’t actually. In fact, you have no idea if those _are_ your guards.”

“What do you mean?”

The scowl was back.

“Only that you have inherited the Lion’s Guard from your father, who was very set in his ways. He always did things the way that his father and grandfather did without stopping to ask _if_ they should be done that way, and that includes having all of the guards in this place marching around in that tin plate armor everywhere they go. It looks lovely and impressive and when your city-kingdom is under attack on a daily basis and you’re relying on swords and arrows, it makes sense for your guards to be fully dressed and ready for battle. However --”

“However?” 

“However, the city isn’t under constant attack. Now, I grant you that putting armored guards at the entrances seems wise. But you see…” he made a gesture and an image of one of the guards’ helms appeared in his hand. He set it against his face. “You can’t tell who’s inside that suit of armor once the helm is in place. And right now, it’s rather critical to know if the guard who walked in the room is the same one who walked out.” 

He flicked his fingers and the image shimmered and disappeared. “Now, can we get some of those very dated metal uniforms for Left and Right so that they can accompany Anduin when he leaves this area?" He crossed his arms and leaned back, looking smug. 

Anduin turned to Mathias, who was still scowling fiercely. “Point taken,” the Spymaster said. “Your majesty, if you will allow it?”

Anduin nodded reluctantly and glanced toward the two women. “The bedroom at the end of the hall is unoccupied. You can use that one. Let me know what you need for your comfort.”

“Lovely. Here’s their measurements so you can get the right size.” A piece of paper appeared between Wrathion’s fingers. He held it out to Mathias, who took it as though it was going to come alive and bite him.

“If you’re quite finished… “ Anduin gave the dragon a hard stare. 

He stared at Anduin for a long moment, as if considering something and then simply said, “Yes. For now. I’ll go make myself at home on the couch in the old study.” And with that, he stood and ambled out the door and down the corridor with the studied insouciance of a well-fed cat.


	9. Seeking Him Half of Your Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An elderly nobleman, Earl Youngton, attempts to assassinate Anduin and most of the Stormwind government with a poison developed by SI:7. Mathias Shaw recognizes the symptoms and stops the attempt, though Anduin nearly dies. Investigations reveal that the Scarlet Brotherhood wants to start a result to put Calia Menethil’s son and at the assassin’s estate are some documents that say Anduin and Varian signed a secret treaty to get the Horde to release Anduin from their custody in Pandaria. The evidence looks convincing -- and may have convinced some of the SI:7 agents who found it. Mathias Shaw is on the hunt to find the assassin’s helper and shut off the flow of propaganda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yipe! I didn't realize it had been so long since I posted. Luckily for you guys, Kayani_Iriel poked the jaguar.

Renzik shook his head. “Tyr’s Hand was a dead end. There’s no kid there.” He handed the report over to Mathias, who scanned it quickly. “However, there’s been a renewed interest in Lordaeron in Light’s Hope Chapel. Somebody found Calia Menethil’s tiara.”

Mathias scowled at the report. “I assume it’s fake.”

“Jeannine Sylvius’ report said this guy who says he’s the finder showed up, talked about wanting to sell it, showed it around. I’ll have her shadow him.”

“Do that. He may be the missing manservant.”

Renzik made a note. “It’s possible. He’s human, middle aged, medium brown hair,beard. One of those knocked adrift from the wars. Says he’s a treasure hunter though he’s not part of the Explorer’s League.”

“Like thousands of others.” Mathias frowned. “The appearance of that tiara is entirely too convenient for my tastes. I wonder if that thing is real.”

“All that has to happen is for them to believe it’s real. Seriously, how many people know what the crown jewels of Lordaeron looked like?” Renzik tapped his finger on the report. “I could probably show up with a bucket of Lovely Charm Bracelets and say they belonged to Calia and there’s people who would believe that.”

“Let’s go over the schedules and see who we can assign.” Mathias reached for the personnel logbook, painfully aware of how many names were marked with the symbol that meant ’deceased.’ He made a mental note to himself to have one of the scribes make a fresh copy with only the names of the living. Then he’d open his Ledger of Honor and make certain that all the dead were faithfully noted along with the record of their deeds.

Even the deeds of the betrayers -- like Edwin VanCleef.

-~oOo~-

He knew there was going to be an argument the minute his gryphon landed at the Stormwind Embassy.

“I do NOT like this, Anduin!” Valeera’s whisper was icy, and her green eyes glowed like felfire. “It goes against everything Shaw has done to protect you! You always think you have the better plan, and you know that’s not true.” She glanced around at the nearby refugees and returned her glare to him.

“Valeera, I have to be seen in public. You know how many rumors there are about what happened. The Embassy here is safe; you said so yourself and Aysa’s been watching. I flew in by gryphon and I’ve got Arator with me. I’m going to walk in, say hello to all the unit leaders, talk with Queen Mia, and then fly back home. Fifteen minutes if I don’t have to stand here and argue with stubborn elves.”

Valeera bridled. “I’m going to remove your ears for that remark.”

He smiled. “This evening. Over dinner you can tell me in detail what a horrible little brat I am,” he said softly. “But for now, I need you to go along with things.”

“Anduin!” she hissed.

He smiled, folded his hands behind his back, nodded pleasantly as though they’d just finished a convivial conversation, and walked toward the Embassy. He’d be able to deflect her at dinner with all the others there, but she wouldn’t forget and she’d be storing up a real diatribe.

When he entered the Embassy he found a tired-looking Mia Greymane sitting in one of the chairs, rubbing her foot. He eased into the chair next to her and held out his hands. “May I help?”

“Oh. Anduin!” She leaned back a little. “It’s fine, really. Just tired from standing on my feet.”

He took her foot gently and began channeling a trickle of Light into his fingers, weaving it into the hot red spots along her muscles. He could feel tiny prickles as his fingers massaged near the joints. She was beginning to develop arthritis. “You might want to find an excuse to sit just a little bit more during the day,” he said.

“I’ve been troubled for you,” she said suddenly.

He looked up and smiled at her. “I appreciate your concern. My Companions are watching over me. Valeera has already scolded me for my little outing today and I expect I’ll hear about it from the rest. Arator’s as watchful as an old hen with one little chick.”

“Three times I dreamed the same dream of you being trapped in quicksand and sinking… sinking.”

Anduin stilled his motions and looked into her eyes, carefully considering his next comment . Their relationship was… complicated. Genn had emotionally adopted him as a surrogate son after Liam’s death, but Mia dealt with her grief in a different way. Anduin, to her, was simply another young ruler that she dealt with socially and nothing more. The dream must have shocked her deeply for her to mention it.

She looked away and then down at her hands, fingers twisted together in her lap. “There were vines all around pushing you down and one of them was strangling you. A dog and a sword were attacking a big tentacle that was pushing you down. The birds around you tried to help but they were caught in nets.” Her face was bleak. “And you and the dog and the sword and birds -- all were being swallowed by the quicksand. I'm afraid that's all. Genn woke me then. Said I was thrashing about.”

“It sounds terrifying,” he said gently. Something in her dream reminded him of the nightmare that Wrathion's visit had interrupted.

The expression on her face was bleak.

“Genn… the others… don’t believe in dreams and omens. But my grandmother was a tidesage and she always believed that if you dreamed something three times it was a warning. I’ve had a lot of those dreams lately. The one with Genn being offered a crown made of daggers is the worst.”

“I would like to hear about them if you want to talk some afternoon. We can have tea or cider. You can tell me about your grandmother and your dreams.”

“Thank you.” She smiled faintly then and brushed his hair with a finger. “Thank you for not treating me as if I was caught in old superstitions.”

“Flynn believes in dreams and tidesages and after talking with him, I’m not as skeptical as I was.”

“He’s a good man. He’s good for Shaw.”

“And for many others,” he replied, and didn’t elaborate.

-~oOo~-

Anduin’s newest cadet, Kyla Daviest, set the silverware basket on the sideboard as Robbie Flay bowed and smiled. “Enjoy,” he said as he led the cadet and his team of assistants out of the royal suite. With the addition of Wrathion, Left, Right, and Arator to the Companions, issues of feeding the whole team had gotten a little more complicated. Carrying food and drink for nine people was more than one person could manage.

Anduin lifted the lid of the first platter and sniffed appreciatively. “Ahhh… Outland cuisine tonight. Warp burgers and crunchy serpent. Smells amazing. Come on -- help yourselves.” He offered a fork to Valeera -- an old joke and peace gesture from his childhood -- and was somewhat relieved that she didn’t stab him with it.

Flynn lifted a second lid. “Vegetables stabbed into submission,” he announced and then lifted a second lid. “Mysteriously round fruit. Probably not explosive.” He started handing out plates to the others. “Best to nab yourself a few vegetables before they get rowdy again.”

Anduin opened another box. “Bread.”

“With or without exploding bits?”

“Do you feel like living dangerously?”

Flynn batted his eyes and tried to look innocent. “No?”

“Then hands off the rolls.” Anduin handed him a breadstick. “And if you try to get stabby with that, Mathias WILL speak to you sternly and Valeera will definitely reprimand you.”

“Sounds like a fate worse than death.” He aimed his fork at a crunchy looking meaty object, determined to fend Wrathion off. “Watch your fingers, mate. I learned how to wrangle lamb keblam a few weeks ago.”

When they settled back onto the couches with their food and drink, Anduin turned to Mathias. “I know you’re not really going to like this, but I would like our dinners to include a debriefing --and this includes you. Everyone here is risking their lives and has changed their schedule just to keep me safe. They deserve the full truth.”

Mathia frowned, but nodded after a moment, then took a breath and began. “You know that Earl Youngton, who founded SI:7, tried to assassinate the king with a poison. He had a helper with him, disguised as a manservant, who managed to escape. He used a contact poison that spreads by touch, and the idea was that it would end up on a lot of surfaces here in the keep. If it hadn’t been caught, Anduin and a lot of the staff and government officials would be dead.”

There was a murmur of surprise from some of the others. Wrathion glanced sharply at Anduin.

Mathias set his plate on the table in front of him. “They picked a time when King Greymane was going to be out of Stormwind for a week. The hope was that he would end up as reigning monarch of Stormwind and that this regency would give them time to legitimize and show up with Calia Menethil’s son.”

“I don’t remember any of the Uncrowned dossiers about a Menethil son -- other than Arthas,” Aysa said.

“He’s a big part of the puzzle,” Mathias said. “If there’s such a person, he would be younger than Anduin, I think that he’d be presented to King Greymane and Queen Mia as an orphan who needs a guiding hand and protection. The queen wouldn’t turn away from a lost orphan and the king, with Anduin dead, would find comfort in a new royal son to guide and protect.”

“That’s… rather effective.” Wrathion’s eyes glowed briefly.

“The big idea here is to establish a kingdom where only humans are welcomed and everyone else is secondary. We think that there’s a real child somewhere and we know that they’re starting to put out propaganda that suggests that Anduin is in league with Sylvanas and should be overthrown. Right now, we don’t know where Youngton’s associate is and we don’t know where this child is, if he exists.”

Arator waved his fork. “Okay. I’ve got something. Don’t know how it fits, but -- four days ago I was at Light’s Hope Chapel and encountered a man who was showing around something that he said was Calia Menethil’s tiara.”

Silverware rattled. “You saw him?” Mathias was leaning forward like a hunting cat, eyes intent on the paladin.

Arator nodded. “I stood close enough to eavesdrop on his conversation, and I didn’t like what I was hearing. I entered the Sanctum of Light and asked the Quartermaster to loan me a change of clothes and then followed him for almost an hour. He talked about putting it in the hands of the heirs of Lordaeron -- he called it ‘the crown of the rightful queen,’ and he emphasized the word, rightful.”

“How much did you overhear?”

“I listened to his basic spiel several times. The interesting thing is that he kept the tiara wrapped in a sheet of printed paper -- a poster. I got close enough to read some of it. It was titled ‘The Menethil Heir’ and had ‘the true ruler’ and ‘Menethil’ in bold type all over it.”

Anduin glanced toward Mathias. “Are we dealing with just one person running around spreading rumors or is it more organized than that?”

“A small operation right now, unless they get a lot of believers. The one report I got from my agent said that there’s so many wild claims by travelers at the Chapel that it basically got ignored. Whether anyone along the road to the west is going to believe it is another story. I’m going to have agents investigate.”

Arator waved his fork again. “I think I have a solution; a way that you can find out where this person is telling his tales and simultaneously squashing any propaganda before it becomes popular.”

“Oh?”

“The one issue is that I will have to bring in someone who’s well known to many of your Champions… a worgen named Fiona.”

Mathias frowned. “I’ve seen the name in reports. She’s… a traveling herbalist, I think?”

“Yes. She travels the main roads through both Plaguelands, usually accompanied by a pair of paladins. She’s transported travelers and Champions and is well-liked. She was at Light’s Hope Chapel when I left. I can ride with her. She’d be happy to help squash the gossip and because of her reputation, everyone’s more likely to believe her than to believe me.”

“I don’t see much wrong with that idea,” Anduin said. “You and Shaw can work together to decide just how much you’ll tell her.” 

“It will do for a short-term and will give us time to decide what we want to do in the longer term.” Mathias added another note to the page and looked up at the paladin. “Let’s go to SI:7 and I’ll fill you in, give you traveling expenses and access to our special items, and get you set up to leave as soon as you’re ready.”

Arator rose. “Let’s go.”


	10. For Silver and Gold in Their Dealings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An elderly nobleman, Earl Youngton, attempts to assassinate Anduin and most of the Stormwind government with a poison developed by SI:7. Mathias Shaw recognizes the symptoms and stops the attempt, though Anduin nearly dies. Investigations reveal that the Scarlet Brotherhood wants to start a result to put Calia Menethil’s son using documents that say Anduin and Varian signed a secret treaty with the Horde for Anduin’s release. Arator heads to the Plaguelands to find a man who claims to have Calia Menethil’s tiara. He may be the source of the insurrection rumors.

“I do solemnly vow that if anyone else calls me ‘son’, I am going to rescind all my vows and go berserker and start running around hitting things,” Arator grumbled as the wagon rolled down the long slope toward Corin’s Crossing. The morning sunlight glittered on the wet reddish grass, brightening the dull monochromes of the landscape.

The worgen woman beside him laughed merrily. “It’s your youthful good looks, Arator. I’m afraid you’ll be wearing that for the next two hundred years.” 

“Maybe if I had a scar, like Lor’themar Theorn.”

“Nope.”

“You know, I think this beard makes me look older. More dignified. But I’m not sure about the tattoos.”

There was a snort of laughter from his companion. “You’re so vain, Arator. Shaw did a good job changing your appearance. The idea isn’t to make you prettier -- it’s to make you less noticeable.” 

He sighed and regarded his image in the mirror. “Maybe if I wore my hair differently.”

“Leave it in the ponytail,” Fiona said crisply. 

“As you wish, milady.” He made an attempt at a courtly bow and she laughed again, her eyes twinkling as she glanced at him. The orange-colored sunlight tipped her gray fur with points of light, making it look as if she was frosted with tiny stars. He watched her for a moment, oblivious to the rusty-colored scenery around them.

She was intent on the wagon and the horses now. Although the animals were well-trained and well seasoned, they were still horses after all and could be unpredictable in an emergency. Corin’s Crossing was the kind of place that created emergencies and one of the main sources of contagion for the land. The Argent Crusade had cleared it out many times and tried to restore it as habitable land, but it still spawned seemingly endless numbers of undead from its main graveyard and many smaller cemeteries.

They had reached the waystone that marked the beginning of the newly constructed Argent bypass road that swung north around the town and led toward Light’s Shield Tower. There was a ripple in the grass and he sat up straighter and shifted his sword, but nothing emerged from the vegetation as they made the turn. 

Fiona sniffed briefly at the wind. “It’s okay. Only a squirrel.”

He relaxed slightly and began scanning the trees and vegetation near the road. Something white fluttered briefly in a breeze; something pinned to one of the cinnamon-colored trees. 

“Pull up, Fiona,” Arator said as he hopped down from the wagon. The Templar plate armor he was wearing clanked loudly as he landed on his feet. A distant gargoyle looked towards them but didn’t seem interested in moving closer. He shot a quick glance back at Fiona. She was alertly watching the countryside but didn’t seem focused in on something. He snatched the piece of paper from the red barked tree and ran back to the caravan. “Let’s go.”

She clicked her tongue and the horses started moving as he scrambled up into the seat. ‘What did you find?”

“It’s one of those pamphlets I was telling you about.” He passed it to her and leaned forward in the seat, watching the countryside carefully as she read. “We knew about four different versions. This is something new.”

“This is ugly stuff,” she said. “Dangerous.”

“It’s what we’re here to combat. That poster hasn’t been up very long. It was put on that tree after the rain - there’s no smears on the ink. So we’re a few hours behind them at most.”

Fiona wrinkled her nose and frowned. “Were they coming from the Western Plaguelands or headed there?

“That’s a very good question.”

-~oOo~-

“Well, the changes would be simple enough to make.” Ahlomi Bonebear, head of the Stonenight Publishing company looked over the notes that Mathias handed her. “We were planning on publishing and releasing the new edition of _Book of the Peerage_ later this year. Let’s go talk with the editor and see where things stand.”

“Is it possible to have the edition with these changes printed and sent out early?” Mathias bit back a yawn and thought about getting coffee from the Legerdomain Lounge before going to see Khadgar.

The dwarf opened the door to the workshop and led the way to an office to one side of the printing presses. “How early?”

“I need twelve copies as quickly as possible. I don’t know if it’s realistic to ask for them today or tomorrow, but as fast as they can be printed.”

She glanced up at him. “For the right price, you can have them in three hours. Let’s go talk to the editor. We can set up one on the press that’s running broadsheets and the bindery’s set up for hardcover books so it won’t take very long.”

“I’m willing to pay to have it expedited.”

“Then it’s a pleasure to do business with you, Master Shaw.”

He counted out the payment and handed the gold to Bonebear. She thanked him and turned back to the work area as Mathias headed down to the Hall of Shadows, carefully avoiding looking towards the sewers; the place where Amber Kearnen died. He told himself firmly that he wouldn't think about her just yet; that he'd wait till he was home and raise a glass to her in private. Still, it was hard to not see the echoes of her and the other agents who had died on the Broken Shore.

His dark thoughts seemed to be an omen. Ravencroft’s resources turned up blanks--no one seemed to know anything about the plot and there was no evidence of new maneuvers by the Scarlet Crusade. The trail on Invar One-Arm was still cold and his family either didn’t know where he was or couldn’t be baited into telling. There were no new leads on activity in the Plaguelands, although they did find a human family who knew Calia Menethil when she lived near Darrowshire. The little crumbs added nothing new, but Mathias thanked them anyway and helped himself to a cup of coffee that they kept in the concession area. It was as bad as he remembered. Amber had once joked that in spite of the legendary ability of rogues to detect poisons and steal the impossible, nobody seemed to be able to steal or buy a decent recipe for coffee.

...but he wasn't going to think about Amber. Not just yet. 

His next stop was the print shop. Bonebear handed him a bulky leather satchel with a shoulder strap. “The peers like it when we get wordy,” she said with a smirk. “They think that their names in a thick book make them appear even more important.”

He hefted the satchel and gave a slight smile. “Judging from the weight, they’ll all be very happy with this year’s edition.”

“We’ll have the full print run done in two weeks, so your noble families will be getting their copies shortly after that.”

“Excellent.” It was a relief that she had accepted the order and had not asked any questions about why it was so urgent to get the book into print. Dwarves and gnomes, unlike humans, weren’t prone to asking a lot of questions if you showed up with a sufficient amount of gold. 

His next stop was the Violet Citadel, where a young mage met him and confirmed his appointment. He was teleported to a room upstairs and asked to wait; Archmage Khadgar was meeting with a group of champions and would be delayed.

Mathias seated himself in one of the hard wooden chairs and studied the room. Noontime light streamed through the golden panes of glass in the arched windows, lending warmth to the cool purple tones of the Violet Citadel parlor. Amber once described the room as 'a place from folk tale memories' with its soft jewel tone rooms. She'd brought him back a small wooden box from the toy shop; something to put his carving knives in, she said. He locked it away after her death. Perhaps one day he'd take it out again and carve a little Lordaeron owl for her and leave it on her grave.

His reverie was interrupted by the faint hum of a mage portal announcing Khadgar's arrival.

“Shaw. What’s the occasion?” It was typical of Khadgar that his greetings were abrupt -- or even non-existent-- when he was harried or in a hurry.

“I need you to replace some books in the libraries here in Dalaran.”

“I’m not the head librarian.” Khadgar’s tone bordered on scornful. “Talk to the librarians. They’ll help you.”

He handed the heavy book to Khadgar, who studied it warily. “We’re trying to stop an attempted revolt against the crown in Stormwind. If these books can be discreetly placed in the libraries -- made to look like advanced copies that were delivered before the real book went out -- it helps our strategy tremendously.”

Khadgar turned the volume over in his hands. “An updated copy of _Peerage_? And this is supposed to keep Anduin safe?”

“Yes. What we’re trying to do is stop a possible coup by the Scarlet Brotherhood.” The plan sounded oddly mad as he tried to explain it, however, Khadgar had surely heard stranger ideas. “ I’m delivering a set to the libraries at Stormwind, Ironforge and Valiance Keep in Northrend, as well as the main libraries at Boralus. But the libraries at Dalaran and Karazan, which are the most important, are magical and they’re very resistant to new books and replacement books.”

Khadgar shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “And for a very good reason. Books have power; they are power. We don’t want lies in our libraries and we do want to control who has access. However, I don't see how it’s going to help.” He hefted the book in one hand, judging its weight. “You’re surely not going to go throwing it at people.”

“No. The Scarlet Brotherhood is putting out flyers saying that they have Calia Menethil’s son. We can counter that by saying ‘she had a daughter, not a son - look it up in the book of peerages’. We approached the publisher with the correction and got Calia to confirm it. They’ve printed off some advanced copies for us and we want them placed in all the major libraries of the realm.” He stood and prowled over to one of the potted plants, examining its golden fronds as Khadgar leafed through the book.

“I see. Nothing else was added?” The archmage asked.

“Not by us. The publisher was planning a new edition this year with updates to births and deaths. We just made sure Calia’s information got in there and paid to have the production of this edition start this week.” A little breeze teased the leaves of the plant, sending shadows shivering across the tiled floor. “I talked with Calia this morning and gave her a rough outline of what the Scarlet Brotherhood was saying and warned her that she needed to be careful. She said that she would take precautions. I’m not sure how sincere she was.”

Khadgar had pulled out a pipe from somewhere in his clothing and was chewing thoughtfully on its stem. “I assume you also told Faol to look out for her?”

“I did. But they’re priests and they have a lot of faith in the Light.” The leaves grew still and the shadows stopped moving. 

“And you don’t?”

“I have faith in daggers. And magic. And good information.”

Khadgar nodded. “Point taken.”

-~oOo~-

Wrathion settled back in the chair, eyed the boiled egg that he was holding, and delicately took a bite. Anduin had quit glowering at him and was beginning to act in a more neutral manner, which was an improvement. There was a sense that the barrier between them was slowly melting, but it wouldn’t be a quick process. The one flaw that Anduin found hardest to forgive was betrayal.

He wondered if they would ever have that feeling of closeness; of kinship that they had shared in Pandaria.

“How is it that you’re still alive, Anduin Wrynn?” It was a rhetorical question, of course, and it made that blond head snap up and the sapphire eyes narrow. It wasn’t polite -- or always safe -- to tease the lion, but he needed the human to start thinking critically instead of traditionally. “Your plan for this upcoming event is to send off two of your guardians as a delivery service and then go waltzing into a party with just your Lion’s Guards in attendance? Right after an attempted assassination?”

Anduin’s reply was a scowl that would have blistered the hide off a whelpling. Time now for the soft approach. Wrathion smiled. “My old friend…”

“I’m not so sure we’re friends.” The response was a low growl.

“Companion, then. We were companions at one time.” The word, carefully chosen, seemed to be something that had special significance for Anduin although it wasn’t particularly meaningful for any other human as far as Wrathion could see. He tried again, “My former companion, it’s a dangerous situation. Remember how we sat at jihui and played to balance the board? This party is a board like that, but there may be three or four players. Sit with me -- like we used to do -- and work this one through.” 

He watched Anduin carefully, and it was indeed like watching one of those Mulgore lions that hunters kept as pets go from attack mode to a watchful stance. The king’s head lifted slightly and the tension in his jaw muscles eased. His left hand unclenched and his breaths grew a little deeper. 

Wrathion reached into the satchel that he’d set by the couch and pulled out his travel gaming board. He set the red warlord piece on a square. “This is you, and we have an unknown number of attackers. Some of them will get in close, like the earl. Others attack from afar with words.” He placed a black warrior next to the warlord piece and an archer token several squares away. “And some will manipulate others.” Now a knight joined the others. “All may be present at any situation. Let’s talk about what can be done.”

He smiled to himself when Anduin sat down beside the board, his face smoother, his eyes brighter. There -- that was his old friend at work, that brilliant mind, engaged in solving a very complex situation. 

For the first time in days, Wrathion began to feel as if he might have a chance at saving the king.

-~oOo~-

The most irritating thing about Dalaran was that after the invasion of the Broken Isles was over most of the other portal access points to cities across Azeroth were closed and the mages reassigned to other places. Greyfang Enclave’s six gateways were reduced to just a single portal to Stormwind. At least this leg of his trip would only involve taking a portal to Stormwind and one to Boralus and after that, a flight to Proudmoore Keep that jutted like a gray mountain over the sea-washed harbor. 

The guards on the long staircase waved him through and the household Steward greeted him at the door and led him through cavernous wood paneled hallways to the small reception parlor where Katherine and Jaina waited. This area, at least, was cozy with a fireplace to keep off the damp and cold. He stretched his hands out to the flames to warm them as two of the Proudmoore cadets began serving the traditional tea and finger foods. He quickly ate one of the sandwiches as the youths finished serving and left. It had been more than six hours since breakfast and he was feeling hungry and tired.

Jaina pushed a serving plate toward him. “Help yourself to all of it. You look like you haven’t stopped for a break, Mathias. Where are you going after this -- if you don’t mind my asking.”

“Back to Stormwind to meet with Renzik, then check in with Anduin and then to bed.” He handed her the package of books. 

She unwrapped them carefully, then looked up with a frown. “ _Noble Families_? I think we have enough of these. They’re not in much demand.” 

“It’s the latest edition, with a correction..” He picked one of them up and thumbed through the pages to the entry on the Menethil family. “You’ll see that we’ve updated Calia Menethil, showing that her child was a daughter and has the death date of the daughter and husband, proving that they weren’t married long enough for her to have a son. It also notes that she married a commoner. If rumors from the Scarlet Crusade hit, having copies of this book in the main libraries of every main city in the Alliance will prove they are a pack of lies. The rumors are moving fast and so I’m giving advanced copies of this to you, Khadgar, and Moira, and putting them in the Stormwind keep library as well.”

She reached for a slip of paper and set it as a bookmark for the page. “I’ll make sure these get into the libraries today. Have you found out who is behind all this?”

“We don’t think that Youngton acted alone. At a minimum, he had an alchemist from the Scarlet Crusade, and a very talented one. The poison used on Anduin was sophisticated; hard to make. This wasn’t something done by an amateur.”

“Do you think it has any links to the nobles in Stormwind?”

“I don’t, but Anduin and Wrathion both think it’s there.”

She turned back to him, her face solemn. “What if they’re right?”

“Then we’re dealing with more than one crisis and we won’t be able to fix it quickly. If it’s any comfort, I’m planning for that, too.”

“What do _you_ think?”

“I think we’ve got two different plots -- one to re-establish Lordaeron as a religiously-based kingdom under the Menethils and one to replace Anduin with a cousin. The fact that both of them want Anduin dead and gone is simply a coincidence.”

-~oOo~-

The best-laid plans of the finest Spymasters on Azeroth were often sent wobbling out of their path by minor events. Mathias planned to head to the royal apartments to meet with Anduin and the Companions and finally get a decent meal -- after a quick discussion with Renzik. However, Renzik's news -- that they had identified the earl as the head of the Royalists of the Scarlet Crusade -- was important enough for him to tamp down his feeling of tiredness and linger over the reports.

"They were all operating out of the earl's manor," Renzik said, shoving another decoded message at him. "We did a thorough investigation of the place and identified four different individuals who were involved, in addition to the earl. I put our worgen agents on trackdown there since there was enough of a scent left behind for them to make an id on the groups. We lost their trail in the Wetlands but we've got people on the main roads. They'll turn up soon."

"So with the earl dead, there's four loose ends?"

"That's the size of it. The Scarlets up on Tirisfal and Plaguelands are all saying that they're not affiliated with this group. We finally managed to talk to Scarlet Commander Marjhan, and she gave us a list of four names and talked a lot about how the Crusade doesn't support this. They seem to be nervous about something else. As to the rest of it, boss, it's all routine. There's nothing that can't wait till morning. Get some food and sleep."

Mathias nodded and rubbed his face. "Thanks. See you in the morning."

But once again, his plans were derailed. As he left SI:7 he found Cadet Kyla Daviest sitting in the doorway, waiting for him. She handed him a message from Genn Greymane. “King Greymane needs to see you. He is in his office, sir,” she said. “Do you want me to tell the king that you’ll be delayed?”

“Yes, please.” Light knew how long this would take. Genn Greymane tended to over-explain everything and if he was in a mood to lecture or to attempt to force his ideas on someone, a short conversation could drag on for hours.

Mathias found Greymane pacing his office in the keep; a rather civilized setting for someone who would look more natural prowling among the pine trees of the Tirisfal coastline. His office was relatively unpretentious -- an unused sitting room in his suite, refurnished with a utilitarian-looking desk and office furnishings including several chairs for visitors. It was darkly amusing to Mathias to privately label them “hand-me-downs” to the Greymanes from the Wrynns. 

“Shaw.”

“Your majesty.”

He held out a single sheet of paper. “I have here a letter that I think you need to see. It was sent a week ago and reached me this morning. I think the slow delivery time was very deliberate. It’s from that Earl Youngton.” 

Mathias glanced at him warily and took the paper carefully in his gloved hands. “Has this been checked?”

“Yes. I took it to Renzik the minute I read the signature. There’s no substances on it.” Greymane was staring intently at him.

Mathias nodded and glanced down as he unfolded the letter. It contained only Youngton’s signature and a single sentence: _The world does not need fools and children on the throne._ “That’s it? Nothing else?” 

“Nothing.” He rocked back and forth on his feet, his frown lines deepening. “The messenger was human - a man of medium height that nobody seems to remember. He wore Gilneaen livery, so no one questioned him. And before you ask, yes, I sent someone to sniff him out, but he walked to the gryphon roost, apparently shedding his coat and colors on the way, and flew off. No one knows where. We did retrieve the coat and gave it to your people. Any worgen could use it to identify someone as long as the scent holds.”

“I’ll talk with Renzik about this. Was there anything else?”

Greymane shook his head and turned back toward the door that led to the bedchambers of his suite. “That’s all.” It was a fairly clear dismissal, and Mathias was grateful that the audience was over so quickly.

He thanked Genn quietly and made his way down the cool gray halls toward the royal suite, nodding to the guards.


	11. The Thousandth Man He's Worth 'em All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An elderly nobleman, Earl Youngton, attempts to assassinate Anduin and most of the Stormwind government with a poison developed by SI:7. Mathias Shaw stops the attempt, though Anduin nearly dies. Investigations reveal that the Scarlet Brotherhood wants to put Calia Menethil’s son on the throne of Stormwind, using forged documents that say Anduin and Varian were traitors. Arator heads to the Plaguelands to find a man who may be the source of the insurrection rumors. Mathias provides the national libraries of the Alliance with the printed proof that Calia Menethil’s only child was a daughter.

“Mother figure.” That was how Fiona once described herself to Tirion Fordring. He never asked her who she was before she picked the name “Fiona” and bought the caravan wagon with its horses -- and she never told him. The worgen ‘curse’ had been both a blessing and a curse to her, allowing her to remake her life. Baroness Livia Ashbury was dead and buried along with her husband, Baron Ashbury. Long live Fiona, mother figure to many of the Silver Hand paladins; a worgen holy priest and herbalist from Nowhere in Particular.

Tirion Fordring was a force in her new life; a giant of a man with a deep understanding of life. He was the first to realize that she had a Talent and that she was,in fact, a holy priest. It was Tirion who urged her to train with Daria L'Rayne and Tirion who helped her find purpose with the Silver Hand, traveling the roads between Hearthglen and Light’s Hope Chapel, tending to travelers. It was Tirion who showed her that even the most powerful of Azeroth could still be hurt in ways that couldn’t be mended and it was Tirion who allowed her to help him when the ache in his soul grew overwhelming in the dark moonless evenings of winter.

Plaguelands was a place of grief and mending for Fiona.

As Baroness, she had no children, much to the scorn of the Baron. As Fiona, she had dozens of children in the young paladins who came to Light’s Hope Chapel without friends or family. As Baroness, her only duties were to walk around the garden, host her husband’s rowdy parties, and look decorative. As Fiona, she was a traveling herbalist who supplied many alchemists in the Plaguelands as well as the Silver Hand’s and Argent Crusade’s eyes and nose for the area.

And now she was helping Mathias Shaw and SI:7 stop a potential assassination. It was a much more useful life than the life of a noble’s wife.

The last of the sun’s rays left the rust-red clouds, but she could see the welcoming lights of Dalson Farm ahead, the local base for the Silver Hand and the Cenarion Circle. The partnership between the two organizations was mutually beneficial and the old Dalson farm showed signs that the land could be mended and that with proper management the whole area might thrive again. 

A sharp gust of cold wind rattled the shutters on her caravan. Arator pulled his cloak around his body and grimaced. He was a child of the warmer southern lands and felt the cold more than she did. Late October in the Plaguelands was a time of storms and sometimes snow, and while it wasn’t as brutal as a Kul’Tiras winter, the winds and sleet could be dangerous for travelers. She could smell rain and snow on the wind as they turned into the lane that led to the barn. It would be a miserable night for anyone caught out in the oncoming storm.

Her stomach growled as she pulled the caravan to a stop beside the stables. “Chad Filmore over at the Argent Crusade should have food. Why don’t you go get us dinner while I tend to the horses,” she said to Arator. “He might have a room for you tonight. It’ll be better than sleeping in the barn.”

He knew better than to insist that he help with the horses. His own mounts were magical; things that had little personality and only a little of what could be called intelligence; working with them was not the same as working with a live animal. He gave a bright smile and sketched a silly bow that made her laugh. “Anything for the Light of the Lands.” 

“Just food,” she grinned. A puff of wind ruffled her fur.

“Food it is.” He bowed again and then unclasped his cloak and settled it over her shoulders. “It’s cold, milady.”

She reached for the clasp, saying “I’ll be fine,” but he put his hand over hers. “I will be in a warm tent in less than a minute. Keep the cloak for now.” Before she could protest further, he turned and trotted toward the distant shelters, whistling a jaunty tune.

She smiled wryly. “Boys,” she muttered to the tired horses as she started unbuckling the harness straps. Nick the stable lad hurried up with a water bucket and grain bag as she led the two horses from the cart shafts into the stall. They nosed him briefly and then began drinking as Fiona started cleaning their hooves. Nick picked up a curry comb and began combing Argyle’s tail. 

“Been awhile,” he said. “Draenor?”

“Yes, but more recently to Kul’Tiras. With the recent cease fire, there’s no real need for battle medics, so I decided to come back here for a while. What’s new around here?”

“Not much. “ He paused for a moment, as if consulting a list. “There’s new horses for Hearthglen. Seem to be building breeding stock there. Zen’Kiki sends things from the Broken Isles to the Archdruid. The troll seems to be happy. Oh. There’s three new herbalists who come through last week. Didn’t have much, though. Druids complained about their herbs.”

That sounded like someone pretending to be an herbalist. Was that the group that they were hunting? “Newcomers to the area? You really have to know your sites to get the best herbs.”

“New to herbs, maybe. Heard from a druid that they got into a fight over money and things got stabby. One of ‘em’s dead, anyways.”

“Sounds like an unpleasant bunch.” She set the hoof pick back in the tackle box and selected a soft dandy bush from a rack on the stable wall. There was a poster lying next to a hay bale and she felt a jolt in her stomach as she recognized the words. “The Would-be Queen,” she said casually. “Is that a playbill for a new play?”

“Oh. No. A performance by that bard. Kind of a singing play. Name’s Coralis.” He began brushing out Preston’s feathery hocks. “I watched it t’other night an’ it was peculiar. He’s got summat he calls the crown of Calia Menethi, handed him from her son who should be the rightful king of Lordaeron. According to the play, he an his helper’s supposed ta take it all around and rise up an army of true humans.”

“That’s a strange tale.” Would it really be that easy to find the man behind the broadsheets? She kept her movements smooth and her voice casual. “Kind of crazy, really. Everyone knows Princess Calia didn’t have a son and didn’t have a crown.”

“Did make me wonder, though, if what we was told was wrong.” 

There was the cue that she had prepared for. She waited a few seconds before responding, as though she’d just given some thought to the matter. “I remember that there’s books with the Menethil family in them. That book that the nobles all have -- _Peerage_ I think it’s called -- shows she only had a daughter. And as for a crown, look at the coins in your pocket.”

“What?”

“The Tirisfal gold pieces all have the king’s head on them, and he’s got a crown. The 50 silver piece has the queen’s head on it, and she’s got a tiny tiara. The 25 silver is Prince Arthas, and he’s got that band around his forehead -- a diadem. And the 10 silver is Princess Calia. No crown. Only a diadem.” She took a soft brush and began cleaning the hair around Argyle’s muzzle as she added what she desperately hoped was a clinching argument. “You met her a few times. She went by the name ‘Widow Landless’ from Darrowshire. Remember her talking about her little girl? If she’d had a son, he would have been with her.”

She heard a rattle and thump as he dropped something. “That was her?”

“Yes. Only a few people knew. Durnt Brightfalcon, he can tell you the same.” She replaced the brushes on the rack and patted her horses as Nick finished working on Preston. “I’m going to see what Ar-- ‘Ari’ got us for dinner. Hopefully it’s not bread again.” An icy wind was rattling the shutters and she could hear the first drops of rain splatter on the hard-packed dirt.

He chuckled softly. “I doubt it. The way he looks at you, he might go all the way to Stormwind for the finest steak he could find. Smitten, that one.”

She huffed a little laugh. “He’ll quit mooning around eventually. Besides, he’s young enough to be my grandson.”

“He’s elf. Might live a thousand years. Not sure he thinks that’s a big difference.” 

She laughed at that and gave a friendly wave as she left the barn. 

Fillmore’s little Bakeshop had changed as much as the farm in the decade since he first set it up. The plain tent with the Argent Crusade banner had been replaced by a small wooden building with a few long tables inside as well as a cluster of chairs on a wide sheltered porch, currently occupied by a handsome man who seemed to be the traveling bard. There was her target -- but where was her paladin?

The bard was holding a small harp on his lap and was telling a story to a group clustered around him -- a group composed of mostly humans. His expression hardened when he saw her and he said something in a soft voice to the others. Raucous laughter followed her as she went into the bakery, feeling as if she was the one being hunted.

Fillmore was behind the counter, cleaning a stack of trays. She greeted him warmly as she looked around. “Have you seen my paladin, Ari? He was headed this way about a half hour ago. Brown haired half-elf.”

“Oh, him. He wandered in and asked about the menu. Bought two loaves of bread and then left. I think someone said he took a flight to Hearthglen.”

“Hearthglen?”

“Yeah. Brightfalcon said some young paladin with no sense took a flight to Hearthglen -- for food. The bird wasn’t happy about it.”

“Oh.” If the idiot half-elf had gone all the way to Hearthglen just to bring her a steak, she was going to have very harsh words with him -- after she ate the steak. “The trouble with my young paladins is that they always get _ideas,_ ” she sighed. “Who knows when he’ll be back -- or with what. I’ll take a slice of the cherry pie, then, and some moonberry juice. If he comes back before you close, tell him I’ve gone to my caravan.”

“Aye. I’ll do that. And give him what-for in good measure. He’s old enough to know better than to leave without telling you.”

She laughed and shook her head. “I’ve tried it with my boys. Lectures don’t seem to make it past that big plate helmet.”

“Maybe if I knocked on it with a rolling pin,” he said with a smile. “You go on now, Fiona. Get sleep. When he comes back I’ll send him along after a few sharp words.”

And now she had to make a decision -- go to the Argent Crusade, present the documents from Shaw and the king, and ask them to arrest the bard or wait until she had confirmation. Getting someone to believe her, even with the paperwork, was going to take some time. Watching them, gathering information, seemed to be the best idea.

Sleet rattled briefly against the roof as she slipped into a seat just behind a short human woman wearing a thick cape. The bard glanced at her, curling his lip slightly, before turning back to his audience and announcing that this was his final performance of “The Last True King of the Humans.” 

It was a lively, catchy tune, simple enough to learn and hum, about a murdered king and wolves and the useless dogs that licked his boots. It wasn’t too hard to figure out that he was talking about the Menethils and the worgen. The word, “bitch”, was worked into the refrain and from the way he glanced at her with a bit of a sneer, she suspected he improvised it just for her. He ended it with a verse about Calia’s crown. When the heavily caped woman, who seemed to be his assistant, came around to collect money for the performance, Fiona flattened her ears and shook her head. 

He noticed her refusal and smirked unpleasantly. “Don’t like the music, dog lady? Not much for history, are you?” The faces in the crowd around him were strangers and their stares were icy. She glanced quickly toward the bar counter, but Fillmore was in the back and hadn’t heard it.

She gave him a smile that showed just a hint of fangs. “Songs that try to rewrite history aren’t to my taste.” 

“Oh friends, we have a bitch who is an expert on history.” 

“I’m clever enough to remember what money here looks like,” she said. “Calia’s crown is on the coinage.”

“I suppose you licked her boots, too. Lots of Gilnaean dogs served the true king.” He opened his harp case and started handing flyers to the humans in the audience. “Lordaeron was the gem of the old empire. We deserve better than to be under the thumb of everyone who can catch a flight here. Some of us want better government and better treatment for the humans; the real owners of these lands. If you want change, talk to these people about it. They’re doing something. As for me, I’ve had my fill of dogs.”

“I’m surprised your audience hasn’t had its fill of liars.” She regretted the words as soon as she spoke them. Tirion would have gently reminded her that a sharp tongue gathered less information than a gentle retreat into the shadows.

The bard took the coins from his assistant and set his harp into its case. “You know,” he said to the men nearby, “a bitch like that is good for only one thing--” whatever he intended to say next was lost as a plate mail glove swept across his face in a backhanded slap. 

_”You will not speak to my lady like that._ ” Arator, no longer in disguise, stepped out of the shadows. As the bard heaved himself to his feet, the paladin slapped him again, knocking him back against a table. 

“Oh look, boys. The bitch has a puppy.” The bard wobbled slightly as he managed to right himself. He gave a cold smile and edged toward Arator and something glittered in his hand -- a knife or a spellblade of some sort. Hair ridged along her shoulders as she hefted the mug of moonberry juice and aimed, but a hand with a steel-like grip grabbed her wrist and jerked her around. The mug spilled, spreading a deep purple stain across the floor as she staggered and almost fell.

“Not so fast, little doggie,” the bard’s companion said with an unpleasant grin as she twisted Fiona’s arm again and swung a club.

Fiona ducked and then lunged upward, slamming her shoulder into her attacker. There was a grunt of pain, but the woman recovered quickly and swung again. Her club pounded Fiona’s collarbone and she felt and heard the bone crack. Pain jolted through her arm and it fell limply to her side. She whispered a pain suppression spell and then raised a shield of energy. Gold light haloed her as the woman swung at her head. The club bounced off her shield but with enough force to break it, and the protective bubble faded.

There was a thundershock roar from a druid that froze the combatants. A cold voice cut across the room. “Arrest them.” There was a rattle of armor as a group of armor-clad Argent Crusade guards swarmed into the room, weapons drawn. The combatants backed away from each other, weapons lowered. 

Hearthglen’s Captain Meyer walked in and stood before Arator. He nodded toward the bard, who was crouching over his harp case. “Is that the man?”

“Yes. The woman there with Lady Fiona is his accomplice. I saw flyers in his harp case. Shaw will be delighted to --”

At the mention of the Spymaster’s name, the bard tossed a smoke device and dodged away from the guards. The bard’s companion released Fiona and turned to run, but the worgen wrapped her long fingers into the woman’s hair and jerked her head backwards. As the human fell, two guards stepped in with swords raised and she lifted her hands in submission. 

The bard shoved one guardsman aside and shadowstepped another one. As he reached the doorway, Arator raised his hand and slammed a judgement spell down on the man’s head and he folded to his knees. A quick judgement spell felled him as Meyer, his face placid, offered a set of runecarved manacles to a nearby guard. “Thank you, Redeemer. We’ll transport them to Hearthglen. Let Shaw know he’ll have a full report in the morning.”

Arator bowed toward the Captain. “I think the audience here will have some good evidence for you, though they’re innocent of actual sedition. And now I think my brave lady deserves rest and healing. We’ll be at the barn if we’re needed.” He placed his hand on Fiona’s shoulder and she felt the warm rush of Light as he worked mending spells. When he was satisfied with the results, he offered his arm to lead her out. She took it, grateful for something to lean on as the adrenaline rush sank, leaving her feeling a little weak-kneed.

“You surprised me,” she finally said. “I was preparing to wait until the bard and his companion were off-guard and then capture them in an ambush.” There was more that she wanted to say but words didn’t seem to come.

“I thought about that, myself. I heard the bard when I first went into the Bakeshop and heard him and saw his partner holding a crown. When I heard them say that they were leaving in the morning, I knew we had to act fast. We couldn’t arrest them by ourselves -- we needed the Hearthglen authorities. I remembered you complaining that your ‘boys’ always ran off to do things without telling you, so I figured that it wouldn’t look too strange if I flew off to find you dinner. I got the Captain, identified myself, showed him the letters from the king and Shaw and he rounded up his squad, and here we are.”

“I see.” She could still see in her mind’s eye the glitter of that spellblade in the bard’s hand. Arator, half-elf though he was, must have heard the ugly words long before Meyer or any other human and, like all her paladins, ran into the fray to rescue her. As much as she protected them, each one of her surrogate children protected her.

He walked a few steps in silence and then said, “I’m sorry that I left without telling you. I didn’t know if the stable hand was in on this and couldn’t risk running in to warn you.”

“It’s okay,” she said -- and it was. She leaned against him and he folded his arm around her. “And we’ve managed to round up half of the team of assassins. That’s a good record for our little hunt.”

“It is.” He glanced down at her. “Are you cold?”

“Not really. You’re the one who should be cold. I’m still wearing your cloak. You must be half-frozen after that flight.” She unclasped the garment and turned him to face her so that she could slip the cape into place. “There’ll be snow tonight.” 

“The barn will be warm,” he said with a smile as she buckled the clasp and smoothed the cape down around his arms.

“It might be.” She took his arm and lowered her muzzle, turning her face toward the ground. He was warm and smelled of many good things -- food, fire, and the heady scent of his skin. His voice was gentle, like sunshine on a summer afternoon. “But my caravan will be warmer and you don’t have to sleep on the horses’ straw,” she said, and wondered what she was really hoping for.

He pointed to a small basket sitting outside the door of her wagon. “Your dinner, milady.”

She peered into the depths of the basket where two rounds of bread filled with a meaty stew sat in a little nest of warming stones. “There’s enough food for two, and you haven’t eaten, Arator.”

He titled his head slightly. “I did bring something for myself to eat in the barn.”

She shook her head. “No. It’s late, it’s cold, and it’s a windy and lonely night. Come inside the caravan. Have dinner with me and tell me silly stories because the night is long and we’ve had an adventure.”

He smiled, eyes half-lidded and sensual and her heart fluttered briefly. “It would be an honor,” he said.

-~oOo~-

Left and Right looked up from their card game and nodded as Mathias entered the main door to the royal suite. Wrathion, sprawled on the couch, was busy with some fabric. “Ah Spymaster. We’ve had quite the day here.”

Mathias sighed inwardly. Traveling through multiple portals always was wearing and the reports from Shiv and Greymane left him feeling emotionally tired. Thoughts of Amber still lingered from earlier in the day, weaving patterns of sorrow across his mind. The dragon, unfortunately, looked energetic and eager to talk. 

Mathias summoned his most neutral response -- “Do tell?”

“Someone turned a squirrel loose in the hallway just before dinner. It took quite a bit of effort to get it out.” He glanced back toward the library and then edged forward in his seat. “Right found the bomb that they’d left.”

Mathias felt himself go cold. “What?”

“It was a diversion. We’d just sent Aysa and Valeera off to rest, and the chef had his assistants bringing food. Someone stealthed in with them and the guards didn’t catch it. They turned loose the convenient squirrel and while everyone was watching or trying to catch it, the bomb was placed near the ceiling. Left retrieved it and Right disarmed it,” he said and handed Mathias a book-sized object that he’d been hiding under his fabric project. “I was going to send it to Renzik but since you’re here, I can hand it directly to you. It’s defused.”

Mathias took it gingerly and turned it over to examine its surfaces. “Standard gnomish-based seaforium charge that we used to use in construction. They must have lost their funding when we seized the earl’s estates and are making do with things out of an old stockpile.” He poked at the wires on top. “Standard wiring, probably bought from mechagnomes, but rigged by someone who didn’t know much about bombs. They’re lucky this klunker didn’t explode in their faces.”

He pulled a notepad and pencil out of his pauldron case and scribbled a note. “Could you have one of your agents deliver this to SI:7? We’ll get a worgen to sniff around and see if we can find out which of our suspects was playing with it.”

Wrathion looked toward his guards. Right nodded, accepted the message, and slipped out of the door. “Flynn and Anduin are in the study going over something about the skyboat,” he said. “Everyone has dined. The chef sent a bowl of stew for you that’s warming on the hearth. There’s bread, fruit, and drink on the sideboard. I think you should eat.”

“Thank you. I’ll give everyone the briefing over breakfast -- there’s not much to tell right now.” Mathias picked up the bowl of stew and sniffed appreciatively, then selected a crisp crusted roll and a bottle of water. “I’ll secure the bedroom,” he announced and walked through the bedroom door before Wrathion could start another conversation.


	12. If You Find Him Before the Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An elderly nobleman, Earl Youngton, attempts to assassinate Anduin and most of the Stormwind government with a poison developed by SI:7. Mathias Shaw stops the attempt, though Anduin nearly dies. Investigations reveal that the Scarlet Brotherhood wants to put Calia Menethil’s son on the throne of Stormwind, using forged documents that say Anduin and Varian were traitors. Arator heads to the Plaguelands to find a man who may be the source of the insurrection rumors. Mathias provides the national libraries of the Alliance with the printed proof that Calia Menethil’s only child was a daughter.
> 
> Mathias returns to Stormwind and the aftermath of another assassination attempt. 
> 
> _Apologies for the lateness. Writing erotica is VERY difficult for me, and poor Kayani Iriel (who beta read the beast) and Mice have listened to me wail about this for about two months. Luckily the next chapter isn't erotica, and should be quicker to write._

There was peace in the silence of the gray stone walls of the royal bedchamber. It was a room designed for secrets, with mage-spelled door locks and noise dampeners. The fireplace was a magical construct; pipes under the floor kept the room at a constant temperature and the one window was spell-locked as well so that only a few could open it. Most importantly, at the moment it was a space safe from almost every intruder in the royal suite -- Anduin excepted, of course.

Right now, Mathias craved silence and isolation; a place to remove his formal dress armor and stretch the knots out of his aching back. He set his meal on the small writing table beside the fireplace and started slowly removing his armor, puting each item on the stand that Anduin had generously made available for his use. It was easy to allow himself to become more vulnerable - physically and to some degree mentally - in the cool, enclosing walls of the bedroom.

No one had reported a breach, but he carefully worked his way through the bedroom and bathroom anyway, examining all the surfaces and cabinets and checking for things that looked out of place. The little tell-tales that he’d left scattered around - a strand of hair draped across his shaving kit, small threads around the stoppers of the oils and soaps Anduin used -- showed that they were undisturbed. Servants had been in to clean and tidy the room, but had not snooped. 

He nodded in satisfaction and then retrieved his leather dressing paste and set it on the table beside the armor stand. He took several bites of the savory stew and then began working over the leather, buffing the surfaces to a soft shine, falling into a rhythm of eating and working. It was more a habit; a signal to his brain that he could relax. These days were mostly consumed with office duties and paperwork, The only part of his uniform to see much wear were his boots. He wiped the dust of Dalaran from their surfaces and tried to wipe the heaviness of the memories out of his mind.

The magical fire in the grate crackled softly. It would be All Hallows eve soon; a time for remembrance. He’d never been a sentimental man -- Pathonia had tried very hard to grind that emotion out of his soul. But this year was different. There was time for someone else and time for something other than work and duty in his life. This year he’d take time to remember. He would find a recipe and make soul bread for Amber and Baros and others -- even Pathonia. 

Perhaps he’d even forgive Edwin enough to make a small offering for him this year. 

He leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out, feeling the aches of the day start to fade as he sipped the bottle of water. He _was_ tired, but it was a peaceful sort of ‘tired’, the weariness of finishing a long day’s work successfully. He allowed his body to sink back further against the chair. 

On a normal day, he would be at home, eating dinner with Flynn in a comfortable bastion of peace against the noise of the world. The past days with Anduin and the Companions was a different experience; more like what he imagined a family might be -- though whether Wrathion would be assigned the role of uppity brat or eccentric cousin was still up in the air. His silent reverie was interrupted when a pair of heads poked around the doorway frame. “Thought I heard you come in earlier,” Flynn said. “I see you found the food.”

He sat up straighter in the chair. “Yes, thank you. And Wrathion told me about the squirrel incident.” 

Flynn waved his hand dismissively. “It was a lot of noise and excitement and reminded me of the time I got Tae into the barracks after hours with a cat. After the fuss was all over, I decided to have a prowl. Wasn’t long before we found the bomb and defused it. End of story, mate.” His tone seemed to suggest that the whole incident was all a lark, but Mathias knew him well enough by now to recognize that there was something more he wanted to relay in private.

Anduin edged past Flynn. “Anything new in Dalaran or Boralus?” 

“Cyrus and Jaina sent greetings. Khadgar passes along his regards.” He stifled a yawn. “I got the books printed and delivered, but beyond that, nothing much. I’ll debrief everyone in the morning so I don’t have to go over everything twice, but there’s not much new. I take it there’s been nothing from Arator and Fiona?”

“Not as of an hour ago. Renzik said he would inform us promptly when messages show up.”

Flynn cocked his head and came toward him, soft-footed, smiling that slow, soft smile that he saved just for Mathias. “You look tired, sweetling. Lucky for you that I know a good remedy to help you get a good sleep.”

Mathias shook his head and sighed. “Ah, colts, I’m too tired to frolic.”

It was the wrong thing to say. There was a brief flash of disappointment on Flynn’s face; an expression so brief that anyone who didn’t know the man would think they had imagined it. And Mathias knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the man would hide his sadness behind laughter; that he’d smile and give in to accommodate Mathias. 

The sad thing was that since the night at the Gilded Rose, Flynn had been changing his life to constantly accommodate Mathias. Flynn, who was so good with broken and hurting things. Flynn, who dealt with Anduin and any next-morning awkwardness while Mathias hurried off to work. Flynn, who could heal a heart or a hurt with clownish gaiety that hid a deep empathetic understanding of other people. Flynn, who smiled gently at him and said, “No worries, love. We’ll go back to what we were doing. You sit there and unwind. We’ll be back in an hour.”

In that moment, a perfect compromise occurred to him. He reached out and folded his hand over Flynn’s. “No. Wait,” he said softly and stroked his thumb across the back of Flynn’s hands. “I may be too tired to play,” he said softly. “However, I am not too tired to watch -- if, of course, you think you might enjoy that.” 

It was like watching the sudden turning of a flight of birds. Flynn smiled down at Mathias and licked his lips. “Sounds very tasty.” He reached for Anduin to pull him closer, but Mathias stopped him with a gesture. 

“Let’s not rush things.” 

“Oh, it’s that way, is it? What do you have in mind?” 

“Something much slower. For instance, I do think you’re rather overdressed. Perhaps Anduin could take your shirt off for me?” Still smiling, he turned his attention to his own shirt and slowly unbuttoned his cuffs as if the most important secrets were hidden there in the cloth. 

That was the secret to working with Anduin Wrynn. For seventeen of his twenty years, regents and guardians had ordered him around -- go here, do that, don’t do this -- and he clearly hated it. After Varian’s death, he grabbed the reins of power from his advisors and put himself in control. While he never stormed or shouted like his father, anyone who tried to command the young king would be met by an almost-legendary wall of stubbornness. However, if you set up the choices in just the right way and offered a request, Anduin Wrynn almost always went along with the idea. 

“I think we can manage something slow.” Flynn brushed Mathias’ cheek with his knuckles and then leaned in for a soft kiss. He straightened and almost pranced over to Anduin’s side. “Our poor old war horse may feel worn down, but I think that he’s not completely knackered,” he said as if the two of them were sharing a secret and then, to Mathias’ delight, bent and murmured something that made the younger man blush furiously.

They stood chest to chest for a long moment with the firelight lining them in red and gold, and Flynn smiling his pirate smile, full of promise. Anduin lifted a hand and hesitantly began unbuttoning the top buttons of Flynn’s shirt, as Flynn leaned in again to whisper things in his ear that made him blush even more deliciously. 

“Very nice,” Mathias said, as he shifted in the chair. His own body was starting to respond. Perhaps he wasn’t quite as tired as he thought. “If you’d like a little payback for Captain Fairwind, try standing behind him when you remove the rest of his clothing.”

Anduin’s eyes suddenly narrowed in that expression that Mathias knew meant that the younger man was plotting something. Then he smiled slyly and stepped behind Flynn, setting his chin on the Kul Tiran’s shoulder, pressing downward as his hands skimmed upward to cup Flynn’s pectorals and lightly squeeze his nipples. Flynn gave a soft gasp of pleasure and wiggled his hips, rubbing back against Anduin’s crotch. Mathias could feel his own nipples harden as he watched their bodies swaying against each other.

One of Anduin’s long-fingered hands began toying with Flynn’s nipple while the other gently raked fingernails down along the line of dark auburn hair that trailed toward his cock. Flynn hissed and then arched backward with a little moan that sent heat pooling into Mathias’ core. Mathias slid his hand to his own crotch, gently rubbing his fingers against the cloth, watching as Flynn leaned back into Anduin’s embrace and began slowly running his hands up and down the other man’s thighs. 

Mathias bit his lip as he eased his hand inside his own pants, shifting his cock to a more comfortable position. He wasn’t hard, but the anticipation was beginning to have an effect. He watched intently as Anduin’s hands fumbled at the buttons of the Kul’Tiran’s trousers and then slowly pulled them downward until the tip of Flynn’s erection was exposed. Flynn’s eyes were closed and the expression on his face was blissful as his own broad hands folded upward to lightly stroke the feathery hairs of his own chest. He groaned again, soft and deep, lost in the heat of the moment.

The two men were pressed tightly together now, writhing against each other. Paler, untanned skin was revealed as Anduin’s elegant hands continued pulling Flynn’s pants slowly downward until they were loose enough to drop to the floor and he stood, naked and beautiful and erotic, arched against the other man. Flynn suddenly turned and they stood together, the naked and the clothed, nose to nose, the sound of their breathing seeming to echo the thunder of Mathias’ pulse. 

He rose then and walked to them just as they reached out for each other. He folded his arms around them and stood between them, running his hands up and down their backs, feeling the heat from their bodies against his. “This will be so much better on the bed, you know,” he smiled. 

Flynn leaned in and captured his mouth with a kiss. “Much better,” he whispered as he reached down to stroke the cloth over Mathias’ cock. His mouth was warm and wet and soft as silk and he tasted of spices and coffee and the kiss left Mathias breathless. “Are you sure you just want to watch?”

“Yes,” he lied. 

They touched foreheads and then Mathias turned back to Anduin, drawing the younger man into a kiss and then whispered against his mouth, “I have something planned that I think will please you very much.”

“You please me. You both please me,” was the soft reply that sent heat boiling into his core. Anduin’s fingers trailed down his spine. “But you seem a little overdressed for the occasion,” he added. 

There was magic in that hand; real magic that buzzed and thrummed against Mathias’ skin and left a trail of heat in its wake. He could feel the power coiling around him, enveloping him, welcoming him, calling him into its velvet embrace. He gasped and bit back a short moan.

“Do you like that?” Anduin’s throaty whisper was close to a purr. His blue eyes were glittering and his faint smile was sensual -- and more than a little smug. Yes, he knew what he was doing, and the ghostly pale light that wreathed his long fingers proved that. Sometime, somehow, he had learned that the Light could be used for something more than healing. The soft touch moved lower, tracing the hollows of his hips and he wanted to fist his hands in that white shirt and rut against that hard body until they both climaxed.

“Wrynn, you damned cheeky bugger,” he gasped. 

The grin widened. “Enjoying it, then?” The tingling grew stronger.

He managed to twine his fingers with Anduin’s and pull his hands away, struggling for control. “Perhaps you should give a demonstration to Flynn.” It was pure deflection. “I think he deserves a taste.”

“That can be arranged.” Anduin gave a sultry smile as he reached for Flynn. A faint light like the shimmer of early dawn on the waters of the harbor, began pooling on the pads of his fingertips. Time seemed to move in slow motion as Anduin began slowly stroking his fingers through the soft curls of auburn hair on the Kul’Tiran’s chest, tracing unseen patterns along the broad expanse of muscle. Flynn stood as if frozen, lips parted, eyes wide. 

Anduin’s fingers drifted lower. Flynn’s breathing became harsh and ragged as he moaned softly and leaned into the touch. After a moment, Anduin moved his fingers away and Flynn staggered, struggling to keep his balance. 

“Tidemother! What was that?” His face was flushed, his voice rough. Mathias could smell the musky scent of his arousal. “Was that magic? It felt like magic.”

“Yes.” Turquoise eyes glittered. “Would you like another demonstration?” Pale fingers drifted downward, curling in invitation.

Time for a quick intervention. Mathias ran his hand up the length of Anduin’s spine. “If you do that, he’ll fall asleep on us before you’ve had your fun. And he’ll snore dreadfully.” 

There was a delicate balance in this game; using touch and suggestive play to increase the sexual tension without giving into the immediate desire. Experience had taught him how to keep the game going, however, as with everything else, advice and experience fell short when dealing with Andun Wrynn. He brushed a knuckle playfully across the high bridge of Anduin’s nose; just enough stimulation to redirect his attention and then rubbed his thumb slowly across the younger man’s lower lip. “I think we’ll be a lot more comfortable on the bed.” 

“Oh, I totally agree,” Flynn said. “It’d be embarrassing if I fell asleep right in the middle of the interesting bits. And I think it’s getting very interesting. Don’t you?” He smirked as he cupped his hand around Anduin’s’ ass and gave it a firm squeeze. “Some of us still have too much clothing on. Have you noticed? Because I’ve noticed. And I think we should fix this.”

“We can start with Mathias,” Anduin’s eyes were dark with desire.

Mathias swatted his hand away playfully and seated himself on the bed. “I’m the observer, colts. I’m not overdressed.” He leaned against the headboard, adjusting the pillows into a comfortable backrest. Someone had stuffed a towel under one of the pillows; clearly they had been busy planning the evening’s fun. He spread his legs slightly, patting the cover beside him. “Flynn, you scoundrel, come sit here where I can get my hands on you. Anduin, come sit here between my legs and give me a hand with that saucy pirate.”

They moved toward him, sliding onto the bed like a pair of otters slipping into water. Anduin gestured and the mage-lights winked out except for a small amber-colored globe on the table beside the bed that bathed the scene in soft, honey-colored light. 

Flynn curled up next to Mathias’ side and began running his hand up and down Mathias’ leg. “Now, about all that clothing…” 

“First, let’s get comfortable.” Mathias gently tugged Anduin back, settling the younger man against his chest. He skimmed his fingers over the sensitive, ticklish skin around Anduin’s collar and then began untying the ribbon that kept the blond hair mostly contained in a ponytail, combing the thick strands with his fingers as they fell loose. 

There was a soft hum of satisfaction -- almost a purr -- as Anduin relaxed into the massage. “That feels… incredible,” he murmured as he reached down to curl his fingers through Flynn’s auburn hair. 

“He’s got such a wicked mouth,” Mathias said as he nuzzled Anduin’s ear with his mustache. “He can do some amazing things with his tongue, too. Was he saying something outrageous to you? Maybe telling you exactly what he wanted to do to you tonight?” There was a blush rising in Anduin’s cheeks, spreading to his chest and he made a soft needy sound; almost a moan. 

“Turn your head,” Mathias whispered. “Look down your body. Watch what Flynn is doing to you.” 

There was a gulp and a soft whine in response. 

He tucked his chin over Anduin’s shoulder, looking down along the planes of that long, lean body to where Flynn lay, curled up against their legs, his auburn hair like threads of fire against their clothing. As they watched, Flynn braced himself on one elbow and began slowly unbuttoning Anduin’s shirt, using only one hand, revealing the well-muscled chest with its light golden hair.

“Are you enjoying the show? The view is even better down here.” Flynn grinned as he finished the last button and brushed the shirt aside to reveal Anduin’s torso. His eyes danced with mischief as he began nibbling and licking the other man’s navel. Anduin squirmed against Mathias, deliberately rubbing his body against the fork of Mathias’ legs and triggering a sensual rush of heat.

He brushed the crisp ends of his mustache against Anduin’s ears. “Let’s see what else is down there,” he whispered and felt the younger man shiver. He skimmed his fingers over Anduin’s chest, paying attention to the tight peaks of his nipples. A flush spread over his pale skin. “Are you watching this? The next part is even better.”

A low-pitched whine full of hunger and longing was the only response.

Flynn carefully unbuttoned Anduin’s trousers, nuzzling against the white linen smallclothes as he undid each of the fastenings. When the last button came loose, he tugged the trousers downward and started mouthing at the underclothing that still covered Anduin’s erection, leaving wet spots along the hard length that lay beneath the cloth. 

Anduin stiffened and arched backwards, eyes wide, making urgent and needy noises as his fingers scrabbled against the bed covering as Mathias cradled him and nibbled at his neck. “Watch,” he whispered again as Flynn slowly pulled down the linen smallclothes and then closed his mouth over the tip of Anduin’s erection and then took the entire length in his mouth in one swift movement.

“Light!” The harsh, breathless groan seemed to fill the room. Mathias bit down gently on Anduin’s neck as the lean body jerked and writhed against his. A wave of something indescribable -- emotion, sensation, connection washed over Mathias and for a brief moment he imagined he was feeling the touch of Anduin’s mind brushing against his. 

His hips jerked a few more times and then he gave a low moan that was almost a growl as his body went rigid and then slowly sagged back down into the cradle of Mathias’ arms, his hair dark with sweat. Mathias folded him against his chest and murmured “Sweet colt. I think you enjoyed the ride.” 

There was a soft laugh. “Amazing. Just… amazing.”

“We’re not quite done yet.”

“Nooooooooo?” It came out as a lazy purr.

“No. It’s about time Flynn got a little attention.” He gave a little nudge and Anduin groaned and slowly rolled to a sitting position, looking down at Flynn.

“Yes, I can see that he needs attention.” Anduin glanced back over his shoulder at Mathias. “In fact, I think I know what will really please him.” He pulled his clothing off and then rolled to one side, curling up against Mathias’ shoulder. His fingers trailed down Mathias’ stomach. “What he really and truly wants is you.”

Flynn looked up at him, poised like a falcon about to take flight, eyes dark with desire.  
Mathias reached for him then and Flynn slid into his arms and captured his mouth with a kiss, wrapping his fingers around Mathias’ face, as if he wanted to melt into his lover and become a single body.

“Love you,” Flynn whispered softly “love you, love you.” 

It was like an arrow to Mathias’ heart.

He’d never really questioned his grandmother’s mandate that as a spymaster and head of SI:7, he should never allow himself to become entangled in friendships and romance. Relationships always ended with death or betrayal. Spymasters were the Dagger of the Empire, and daggers didn’t love or hate. They simply acted without emotion, without mercy, the personification of cold efficiency.

In spite of all that, someone loved him.

He’d honed his emotional armor into an unbreakable wall that lasted for over twenty years; an armor that withstood everything except a rebellious and scholarly teenaged boy with a brilliant mind turned who into a remarkable man and a king who cared deeply about his Spymaster. He’d held up against that kindly siege until Flynn sailed into his life and Halford Wyrmbane kept shoving them together until they meshed.

The Blade of Empire reforged itself in the heat of another’s love.

It came to him, in a startling moment of clarity, that he had given up almost nothing while Flynn had given up everything that seemed to matter just to try and find a place in Mathias’ life -- home, harbor, ship, the sea, and his professional life. He had shaped himself and his habits around Mathias’ life, fitting into their shared space almost seamlessly, blending into the odd and stressful mix of the Spymaster’s unpredictable hours of work and interactions with everyone from homeless kaldorei to royalty.

Mathias had given up -- part of his bed and two drawers in a dresser and some of his privacy. It was a poor return for a loyal and loving heart.

“Shadows take your preaching, Pathonia,” Mathias muttered. He took a deep breath and cradled Flynn’s face in his hands, looking into his eyes. “I love you,” he said quietly, his heart hammering so loudly against his chest that he thought the others could hear it if they listened closely. It was the hardest thing he’d ever said to anyone, and it left him feeling suddenly awkward and vulnerable. 

Flynn rolled onto his side, hooking his leg around Mathias’ and pulling their bodies together, his fingers moving quickly to the laces of Mathias’ trousers. It took mere seconds to strip them away and then Flynn’s hand was there in the space between their bodies, pulling away the cloth so that they rutted together, bare flesh against bare flesh.

He moaned into Flynn’s wanton, talented mouth and braided his fingers in the long, auburn hair. “Need you,” he whispered. “Need you now.”

“All yours,” was the whispered reply. Mathias’ hand joined with Flynn’s in the space between their bodies. He traced the slit on Flynn’s cock with his thumb and felt it pulse in his hand. Flynn choked a little gasp and bucked harder against him and he pulled back then to watch Flynn’s face.

There was something almost ethereal about the way he looked -- the bright flush on his cheeks, the tightening of the muscles of his face and neck as he began thrusting faster into the hollow space of their joined fists. His was a wild sensuality and he approached lovers and life with both hands open -- embracing, welcoming it all into his wide-spread arms. He tossed his head like a stallion, flinging his mane of auburn hair back from his face. Mathias tightened his grip and worked his precum-slicked thumb over the top of Flynn’s cock. He gasped once and then shuddered as he climaxed and then folded himself onto Mathias’ chest.

Mathias closed his eyes as he stroked Flynn’s sweat-streaked face and hair, feeling content. 

Flynn nuzzled his nipple. “You just think it’s all over and time to sleep,” he chuckled. “But we know that you haven’t finished.” He wiggled out of Mathias’ grasp and slid downward, ghosting kisses and nibbles along his abdomen and thighs. “And we’re going to do something about it.

Anduin pushed the pillows aside and took their place, wrapping his arms around Mathias. “I think that it’s my turn now. I’m going to enjoy watching,” he said in a breathy whisper. “Watching and tasting.” He began licking and nibbling at the nape of Mathias’ neck; soft lips and tongue contrasting with the light rasp of the stubble on his jaws. Light gathered around his fingers and he began stroking Mathias’ stomach. 

He’d thought that his arousal faded, but the skillful hands and mouths changed that between one heartbeat and the next. Now there was nothing but a raw and untamed desire that coiled around his belly and arched down to his loins. The universe collapsed into two opposing points; a warm, wet mouth enveloping his shaft and the wild magic rising along the places where his body touched Anduin’s. His hips jerked upward, his heart thundering in his ears as Flynn’s mouth milked him expertly through the sweep of his climax. 

He lay still for a long moment, panting heavily, his hands resting lightly on Flynn’s head as Anduin kissed him and then shifted around to lie beside them on the bed. He reached for a towel that he’d apparently hidden under a pillow and handed it to Flynn,. 

Flynn moved back up on the bed to lie beside him and draped an arm across his chest as he tangled their legs together. “I think that’s much better, don’t you? Very satisfying and cozy. On a scale of one to better, that is.”

He slid his arms underneath the two men lying beside him and kissed each one on the forehead. “Let me think about it.”

“Oy!” Flynn said indignantly, and poked him in the ribs.

Mathias rubbed his cheek against Flynn’s and pulled Anduin close, breathing in their mingled scents and the smell of sex. The stars had changed their position and now it was the small moon that was a timid voyeur of their peace, peering in through the window and spilling a soft ribbon of light across the chair by the door. There were things he needed to learn to say, but opening his heart after a lifetime of keeping it locked away would be difficult.

Tonight was the smallest of beginnings. There were still thoughts roiling in the back of his mind -- duties of the day, shattered pieces of the conspiracy that didn’t fit together, and the difficult questions of relationships. He shut them away neatly in the compartment of his mind that held Things to Think About Later and drifted to sleep to the rhythm of breathing and the delicate light from the pale little moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the next time I write erotica that it won't take two months. Six weeks, maybe....


	13. To The End of the World and After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **An elderly nobleman, Earl Youngton, attempts to assassinate Anduin and most of the Stormwind government with a poison developed by SI:7. Mathias Shaw stops the attempt, though Anduin nearly dies. Investigations reveal that the Scarlet Brotherhood wants to put Calia Menethil’s son on the throne of Stormwind, using forged documents that say Anduin and Varian were traitors. Arator and Fiona travel to the Plaguelands and uncover two of the insurrectionists. Mathias puts a stop to their plans by providing the national libraries of the Alliance with printed proof that Calia Menethil’s only child was a daughter.**
> 
> **Mathias returns to Stormwind and the aftermath of another assassination attempt. With three of the plotters now accounted for, the big question remains: Where are the other two?**
> 
> **P.S. HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my fabulous beta reader, Kayani_Iriel  
> **  
> 

Fiona buried her nose in her scarf as the gryphon banked down through the slate-gray clouds that hung like damp wool over the Wetlands and tried for the hundredth time to focus on the assignment instead of on the half-elf she was leaning against. Arator was shivering slightly and trying to pretend as if he wasn’t freezing. The hired gryphons that flew between flight points were always equipped with a magical force shield that protected both birds and riders from rain and snow but couldn’t do much about heat or cold.

Tyrion Fordring warned her long ago that younger paladins seemed to think that the Light made them impervious to almost anything from raging monsters to bad weather. That usually led to them being hurt -- or killed -- unless wiser heads reminded them that they weren’t immortals. Arator, typical of the breed, had packed his warmer padded clothing in his travel bag, in favor of more comfortable traveling leathers.

She pulled her cloak around both of them and hugged her body against his, thankful that at least he wasn’t wearing plate armor this time. Sleet began pelting the air shield that surrounded the gryphon and it winged toward the west, trying to move them out of the stinging beads of ice. Arator set his gloved hand on top of hers and twined their fingers together as she snuggled closer. “I’ll be glad to land,” he said. “I don’t like flying over mountains in this kind of weather.”

She sighed against his back. “You should have flown to Light’s Hope Chapel and taken a portal to Stormwind.”

“And report to Shaw without you? You were the one who found the man hiding behind the tents and hauled him to the guards.” His tone was warm, affectionate, and he gave her hand a brief squeeze.

“You’ve got the reports with you. There’s not much I could add.”

“You need to be there.” His tone had just the slightest edge to it and she could hear his heartbeat kick higher.

“Arator?”

“Yes?”

Flakes of snow began whirling past them. On the ground below she could see a faint frosting of white. “Is there more to your wanting us to ride together to Stormwind than just making sure we get to Shaw and the king at the same time?” 

He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle and was silent for a moment. “You’ll probably think me foolish, but it’s due to this dream I had.”

“It must have been horrifying to worry you like this.”

“It’s an old dream - nightmare, really.” His voice had an oddly harsh quality to it. “Haven’t had it since my days in Outland. In the original dream, I’m fighting against the Legion or someone like them and something comes out of the sky and then I’m kneeling before a dying man and I’m weeping.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“The worst part was that it kept coming back. After… after Argus and finding my parents again, I thought the dream was gone forever. But it kept coming back, changed in some subtle ways.”

“Changed?”

“In the new dream, the setting looks the same but now it’s someone else dying. In my last dream, the sky had turned a horrible orange and gray and started with my falling a long distance to hit on a hard broken ground. And then I was crouched over a body, screaming your name.”

“That’s unnerving..” She pressed her cheek against his back to reassure him, breathing in his scent - a slightly earthy scent, laced with hints of cinnamon. “Did any of those dreams ever come true?”

He swallowed, and his heartbeat grew louder; faster. When he spoke, his voice was rough. “Not the first one, but when it’s someone I know, it usually warns of a death or near death.” 

She was torn between curiosity and dread. “Dreams sometimes reflect our fears -- but I’ll be careful for the next few days.” 

“So will I.” He gave a brief kiss to her knuckles and pressed her hand against his chest. 

“Then we’ll be fine.”

Confident words, but not ones from the heart. Gilneans didn’t believe in omens and prophecies -- at least, that’s what they told themselves and the world. But many also believed that dream readers could help someone see their future. Fiona wasn’t entirely certain whether she believed or not,once they got to Stormwind, she would go to see Linna Silver. Linna was said to be a better dream reader than Queen Mia and she might be able to make some sense of Arator’s dreams.

She lifted her nose to smell the icy wind as they landed at the gryphon roost in Menethil Harbor but there was nothing except the usual scents of the ocean, marshy ground, gryphons, their tender, and a faint scent of roasting meat from a nearby inn. 

The woman tending the gryphons greeted them with a friendly smile. “Where are ye bound?”

“Stormwind,” Arator said.

“Ah, well. Out of luck, then. Not happening in this weather. Big storm in the mountains and won’t be good flying for another day and a half. You can wait out the storm or take a longer flight through Redridge. We’ve got a local mage who can get you to Ironforge for a price, but Stormwind’s right out at the moment.”

“I think we’d better go with the mage,” Fiona said. “If the weather’s that chancy, we might end up in Thesselmar and then get stuck anyway. And we’d be hunting up another mage in that case.” 

“That’s for the best. Weather like this can still close down the pass near Whelgar.” The gryphon master handed them their small packs. “Portal makes sense unless you’re taking a honeymoon.” Fiona was glad that her features were covered in fur though she was certain that her blush reached the tips of her ears.

Arator shouldered his pack and gave one of his brilliant smiles. “Oh. Meant to ask you. Did two human men come through earlier? Arathi’s flight master said that two men came through earlier and left something valuable at the forge. Asked us to pass along the message”

“Haven’t seen anyone like that since I’ve been here. Had worgen hunters and a dwarf, but no humans. Might want to check the inn. Might have come in earlier.” She turned back to her birds, settling their gryphon in a stall and opening a spigot to allow water to flow into a trough.

“Well,then, we did say we’d ask. So where do we find the portal mage?.”

The flight master turned back to the gryphon. Christa Halloran’s the one to talk to. Lives in a house two doors east of the forge on the big street. Ask in the inn first - she might be there selling transport. Cost you about ten gold.”

“Ouch.”

“You get it fast or you get it cheap, but not both,” was the reply. They shouldered their packs and trudged through the drifting snowflakes toward a stout wooden building with a sign that said Deepwater Tavern. A pair of worgen hunters stood beside the door, talking earnestly to the stablemaster.

The inn was warm and comfortable and not crowded at this time of day. The bartender paused as he set glasses behind the bar and smiled at them. “Traveling through or staying the night?” he asked.

“We’re hoping to get a portal to Ironforge,” Fiona said.

“Ah. You’ve time for a meal if you like. Christa Halloran -- she’s the mage -- she comes in at noon. She charges ten gold per person for a portal to Ironforge, but your baggage is free. She’ll transport hunter pets, too, and even a mount for that one price.”

“Sounds good,” Arator said as he set money on the counter and turned to smile at Fiona. “Milady, what are you having? I’ll have the stew and bread and whatever your local beer is.”

“Same,” Fiona added her coin to the pile. “Is she likely to be very busy, your mage? Do you think there’ll be a lot of folk wanting a portal today?”

“Shouldn’t be much of a wait. Got a couple of worgen hunters with pets and some Explorers League folks with a load of old rocks. And there’s the weekly shipment of hides, too. About five minutes between each, so you should be there well before 1 pm.” 

Fiona palmed her eyes tiredly. It was the same news as they’d gotten at every stop before this -- Explorer’s League members with transport crates, the worgen hunters, and even a draenei. But there was no sign of a pair of humans traveling to Stormwind via the Alliance’s flight masters. Their clue was turning out to be a disappointment.

Arator picked up their drinks and led the way to a corner table. “I don’t understand why we haven’t caught up to them,” he said with a scowl. 

“Do you think they had their own mounts?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been thinking about that. I don’t think that the bard’s woman was lying to us when she said that there were only two other men traveling with them. She was very helpful once the commander informed her of the penalties for being involved in an attempted coup.” He took a sip of his beer as he glanced around the room. “But I can’t figure out how they left the farm. Nobody took any horses, no one saw two humans on foot, and the only ones hiring gryphons were two worgen hunters and those dwarves.”

“If they have their own mount summoning tokens then they could be anywhere.”

“That’s what worries me.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “If they summoned mounts, they could be anywhere. I feel as if we’ve left the investigation undone.”

“It hasn’t been for lack of trying, Arator.” She placed her hand over his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “We’ve been traveling since midnight, checking every single flight point and all the Crown Towers. We haven’t let anything slip.”

He shook his head. “It feels… inadequate.” 

“We’re not trained agents or spies. We don’t have any backup or a team to come in and investigate. We’ve done the best we could.”

“I suppose.” He turned to watch the worgen hunters as they ordered drinks from the bar and then solemnly looked down at his hands.

“Arator,” she said gently. “We’re both exhausted and hungry. We’ve done everything we could.” She gave his hand another squeeze. ‘We’ll give Spymaster Shaw our evidence and he’ll find them and end this conspiracy quickly.”

They both looked up as a waiter set their bowls of stew and a loaf of bread on the table. Arator tore the bread in half and handed one chunk to Fiona, his changeable eyes -- now the color of the sun-- glowing softly as he held her gaze. “I bow to your experience, milady.”

“Good,” she grinned and dunked one edge of the bread into her bowl. “Now eat up.”

“Uhm… If you don’t have a place to stay in Stormwind, I’d like to offer my family’s hospitality,” he said and his voice was both shy and hopeful. “You’d be very welcome to stay for a week or longer.”

“I might.” She reached for the butter.

His smile grew a little brighter and she sighed to herself. At this rate, she’d have to break her vow to herself and shift back into her human form just to convince him that he couldn’t possibly be in love with her because she really was old enough to be his grandmother. She dreaded the confrontation. The last time she looked at her human face in a mirror was eight years ago, but the memory of her old and sad face still haunted her. This time she’d change back in a place where there were no reflecting surfaces. Where the only thing she would be able to see would be the understanding sadness in his eyes.

She scooped up a spoonful of stew. While it wasn’t the legendary Gilnean ragout that she dearly loved, it was warm and hearty -- comfort food that smelled of salt and herbs and a mixture of meat. 

It was almost enough to drown out the heady and overpowering cinnamon and musk scent of the paladin who sat next to her.

-~oOo~-

“You’re humming, Mathias.” Anduin said softly. “Must have been a good lunch.”

“Mmm.” Although there wasn’t a hair out of place on the Spymaster, there was a certain air of satisfaction about him that suggested that lunch might have been something more than a sandwich from the palace kitchens. Anduin hid a grin by pretending that his nose itched. Motion near the library walkway motion caught his attention and he glanced up in time to catch Flynn blowing a flirty kiss toward Mathias. He couldn’t see the Spymaster’s expression, but he could see a faint flush along the back of his neck as Mathias smoothed his mustache.

Love had given the Spymaster a softness that made him stronger and more resilient than the battle-hardened but somewhat brittle man who served Stormwind for more than two decades. His emotional facade had not broken but had added symbolic doors to his soul. Mathias was slowly opening up and even allowing himself to show affection to others -- including one very sad and occasionally terrified young king. .

Sarisse Landow, the royal secretary, handed Anduin a folder with notes and a schedule and several fresh sheets of paper. “Ten minutes, your majesty. First up is the issue of Gilneans wanting to claim an area to settle in the Elwynn Forest foothills. The group is headed by a worgen, Bryce Lakatos. There’s opposition to this from Shelby Meisner and some of the vineyard owners in the area, and they’ll be speaking after Lakatos makes his case. Next in line is the mayor of Goldshire, wanting more protection for Darkmoon Faire. The meeting about the Stormwind patrol guards with Hammond Clay is set for 3:30. I’ve alerted the kitchen. Fruit and tea will be sent to the Situation Room and they’re prepared to send up a light dinner for you two at seven o’clock.”

“I hope it doesn’t take that long.”

“Budget requests, your majesty, are never quick affairs.” 

“Yes,” he sighed. “I know.” He didn’t add _”particularly when Clay is involved”_ but the thought was there and they both knew it. He seated himself on the Lion Throne and flipped through the notes - names of the people in each delegation, a few lines about them, a brief outline of some of the laws involved. The old feeling of being drowned in a sea of paper rose in him.

There was a movement to his right and he glanced up to see Mathias looking down at him. The normally impassive face softened ever-so-slightly and he gave the briefest of nods as if to say “you’ve got this.” 

He glanced around the room. Mathias had added some of Greymane’s “Greyguards” to the throne room security, presumably as a nod to the worgen delegation. He smiled at Sarisse, more weary than hopeful, took a deep breath, and nodded. “Ready. Let’s begin.”

“Hold up. I see Arator and Fiona,” Mathias said suddenly. He signaled the nearest guard to take up position to the right of the throne and walked quickly across the floor to the two Companions as the worgen delegation entered.

A short, stout worgen with pale gray fur and amber colored eyes doffed his top hat and bowed very deeply. “Bryce Lakatos, your majesty, formerly of Pyrewood. I have come here on behalf of my House to request…”

Movement caught Anduin’s eye. Almost simultaneously, Fiona whirled to stare at the delegation, nose twitching, ears canted forward as two worgen in the back pulled out hunter whistles. Four huge bats appeared at the summons -- huge Plagueland creatures that used a type of hunting magic based on fear. Although it didn't affect their members of the same Colony or the hunters who tamed them, it caused anything else that heard their cry to run in fear. 

Fiona, claws stretched wide, leaped forward with a scream of “Assassins!” 

One of the hunters made a casual gesture.

_SHREEEEEEEE_

The unearthly sound echoed off the hard stone walls of the throne room, creating an instant and unstoppable panic. As the sound started to fade, a second bat took up the cry. 

_SHREEEEEEEEEEEEEE_

Anduin found himself in the middle of the confusion, struggling to stay upright. Someone stumbled into him and sent him staggering in a different direction. There was a gunshot and he heard a cry of pain. He struggled to focus his thoughts, but the psychic field from the sound was too intense to keep coherent thought.

He concentrated, trying to slow his run, but nothing he tried worked.

_SHREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKK_

His heart was hammering against his chest and his face was clammy with sweat. The bats’ magical attacks were well timed; each starting as the last one faded. There was no chance to even throw anything at the hunters, even if he’d had something in his hand and there was nobody in the way.

_SHREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKK_

A shot rang out and something slammed into his magic-hardened pauldrons. He staggered, his ears ringing, as another shot slammed into his breastplate, but even these shocks weren’t enough to stop his body from its terrified flight. Someone whimpered as they bolted past him.

He saw Sarisse stumble and tried to reach for her and call her name, but the crowd swept them apart. Guards ran past him, caught up in the beasts’ terror-magic, their metal armor clattering like a thousand forgesmith hammers. A voice that sounded like Mathias’ shouted something as several guns fired at once. 

There was a stinging sensation on his cheek and he tripped over something - _someone_ lying on the ground. The world seemed to spin around him.

_SHREEE--_

There was a new sound; a _crack-BOOM_ of an azerite pistol and the bat’s terror-shriek was suddenly cut off. There was a howl of “No!” that seemed to come from the place where the hunter-assassins stood.

Sensation and control returned and Anduin whirled, raising his hand just as one of the bats turned and dive-bombed the crowd with an ear-splitting shriek. His body reacted violently, wheeling and running in terror away from the creature. He wanted to shriek; to curse; to rage, but even something as simple as shouting was beyond his ability.

Two shots rang out -- the sharp, brittle crack of the hunters’ rifles and the even louder roar of the azerite pistol. In the space of perhaps a half second before another bat turned to attack he glanced toward the library and saw Flynn Fairwind, standing with a pistol in his outstretched arm, a look of calm intensity on his face. 

Was the man immune to the monsters? One of the two remaining bats dived at him, claws outstretched and Flynn simply shot it out of the air.

Anduin took a deep breath and threw his head back as he turned toward the last hunter. The priest’s Psychic Scream spell might not be as powerful as the bat’s shriek, but it was enough to send the last bat winging frantically for the ceiling as the hunter-assassins cowered in fear.

A final shot rang out and the bat fell as several Greyguards in full worgen form tackled the would-be killers and brought them to the ground. Anduin started toward the group but Mathias and three of the Lion Guards intercepted him.

“The assassins are being handled. You need to leave the throne room now, your majesty. You’re hurt,” Mathias said curtly. “We’ll take care of this and report back to you within the hour.”

He lifted his fingers to his head and felt wetness. When he pulled his hand away, his fingers were covered with blood.

“Ahoy, your kingleyness.” Flynn strolled up, casually pulling a wad of paper out of his ear. His grin was cheerful but not entirely convincing though his demeanor suggested that the whole thing had been a bit of a lark rather than the brutal truth of his actions -- single-handed heroism that stopped a royal assassination. “We’d best head for cover in the conference room while Mathias gets this sorted out. He tends to get stabby, you know, if we hang around and stare while he’s ordering people about.” 

Mathias scowled fiercely. Flynn blew him a kiss as he took Anduin by the elbow. “It’s true, you know,” he added. “It’s one of his most charming traits. Anyway, did I ever tell you about the time I got caught by sirens and I had to rescue one of your Champions?”

-~oOo~-

Mathias closed the door to the king’s private office, effectively shutting Anduin off from the world. The assassins had been sent to the Stockades, the Companions had been briefed, Arator and Fiona had been reassured that their information was indeed helpful, and Renzik had been alerted to a possible problem group among the worgen. Throughout it all, Anduin had apparently listened intently as he took notes. 

But the motion of his jaw showed that he was subtly grinding his teeth and a certain tightness around his mouth showed that the king was still brooding over something. So Mathias Shaw sent Wrathion and his entourage off to their quarters and Flynn to the royal bedchamber and made his own excuses to sit in a corner of the main sitting room and work on his own paperwork. Anduin turned silently and went back into his office. 

Half an hour later, Mathias picked up a carafe of water and followed him.

The young king was sitting at his desk, staring intently at papers -- legal documents, petitions, pen poised in his hand, that same fixed expression on his face. Mathias suspected that he hadn’t really moved or signed anything in quite awhile. He leaned against the doorway and watched, waiting for that moment when Andun’s expression would shift slightly. 

“Was there something you wanted, Mathias?” Anduin was looking up now, brows furrowed, and there was just a slight edge of anger in his voice.

And now began the delicate dance around the Lion. One of the first lessons that Anduin had learned was to not betray his inner feelings, and very personal matters had to be approached carefully. Mathias relaxed his posture and stepped forward just slightly. “This has been a difficult day for all of us. You’ve handled it well -- much better than Varian would have.”

The praise caught him off-balance. “Oh. Ah -- thank you.”

“Water?” He held up the carafe.

“Yes. Please.” Anduin rose and handed over his glass. His expression was less guarded now, and his shoulders drooped wearily.

“You’ve got a lot on your mind, colt. What’s bothering you?” He handed the glass of water back and turned to set the carafe on a table. Some confessions were easier if the listener was turned away.

There was a soft sigh. “Mostly it’s anger at myself. I didn’t listen to you about security measures and as a result, a lot of people were hurt.”

“We’ll work on that-- with your permission.” There was something else; his gut instinct told him that, so he busied himself with the sideboard, arranging things and picking over a bowl of fruit as if looking for the perfect apple. “But you seem worried about other things.”

“Yes. Mathias -- I need to say something -- difficult. Please hear me out before you say anything.”

He turned and nodded. “Of course.” 

Anduin was rubbing his forehead as if he was fighting off a headache. “I… want to apologize for my actions. My need; my selfishness put you in this situation and I am deeply sorry for what I have done to you and Captain Fairwind.” 

He noted the odd usage of Flynn’s last name and title. 

“I… these past two nights have been...amazing. Beyond belief, really. But, Mathias, you aren’t a plaything for kings. You are my friend; my loyal advisor, my Companion. But that doesn’t obligate you to being my bedmate. I would never ask such a thing from you and I want to release you from all such obligations to the House Wrynn and the Crown, now and forever.” Anduin’s face was lowered, his gaze on the floor. 

_Ashamed_ Mathias thought, though it was hard to decide whether he was ashamed about claiming power or about the sex. “Would you mind if I asked a question?” he said gently. 

“Ask.”

“Why do you think there’s some sort of obligation?”

Anduin was staring at the floor, his face brick red “I… err.. Saw you with my father once. I ran before either of you saw me, but I remember the expression of pain on your face. It… frightened me that someone would be so loyal and allow so much pain. I know your loyalty lies to the Crown -- you have always put us before yourself and your interests. But I don’t want to do that to you.” 

Mathias sighed. “Yes, we had a few encounters. I was young, your father was very attractive, and it … happened. But we both agreed it was not a good idea. So I reminded him that SI:7 has a number of skilled agents who do sex work and enjoy it. We tried a few things and found a solution that worked for him. I’ll spare you the details.” 

“Oh.” 

“What makes you think that you coerced us into this, colt?”

“Because… that’s what you do. Service before personal wants. And because… as your boss,” he added awkwardly, “it might seem like you don’t have a choice.”

Mathias sighed and set his hand on Anduin’s shoulder. “I can see how you’d think that’s the case, but it’s not really true. If neither of us was interested, I could have selected someone on my list and arranged something for you. We accepted …” He paused. He couldn’t say ‘love’ though it was some sort of love. “...because of how we feel about you.” It was as close as he could get to any emotional statement. 

There was an even longer silence and Mathias realized with some amusement that Anduin wasn’t very good with emotional declarations, either. He patted Anduin’s shoulder and straightened up. “Ah, colt. You are so honorable. Rest assure that you’ve nothing to blame yourself about in any of this. If you like, we can talk about it more at another time. But it’s late, and you look exhausted and I think you should sleep if you can manage it.”

“I am.” He yawned. “I feel as if I’ve been force-marched through half the Eastern Kingdom.”

“Then let’s get you to your bedroom. If you’re lucky, Flynn’s not asleep and you won’t have to put up with his snoring.”

“You know, I wouldn’t even mind that,” Anduin said with a tired smile. “It’s a comfortable sound; the sound of someone I … trust. If nothing else, this whole week has taught me that a king should not focus on being connected to his people -- but exclude real friendship and companionship with people who know him for who he is, titles, and all. Friendship based on not knowing the truth about the other is-- a bit shallow. You have to pretend to be someone else and in the end, you’re never sure if you’re liked for who you really are.” 

He paused and eased the bedroom door open, then turned back to Mathias with a smile. “Asleep. He’s earned it, too.”

“He never ceases to amaze me. He’s one in a thousand. I find it amazing that he left everything behind just to be with me.”

“Amazing that he gave up everything to be with the one man in a thousand for him? After a lifetime of dodging bad decisions and dangerous relationships?“ Anduin shook his head as he closed the door behind them. “You’re his safe harborage. His one true home. He’d follow you across the stars for the sake of your smile.” 

“Ah, colt. You are such a mixture of deep philosophical thoughts and outrageously dangerous lunacy.”

“It’s one of my best traits, Mathias. One of my best traits.”


End file.
